».  faker. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

Biology 

BEQUEST  OF 

Theodore  S.  Palmer 


BIRDS  IN  THE  BUSH 


BY 


BRADFORD  \TORREY 


BOSTON 
HOUGHTON/  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

New  York  :  11  East  Seventeenth  Street 


1885 


Copyright,  1885, 
Br  BRADFORD  TORRE Y 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge : 
filectrotyped  *md  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


TJ 


WHEREFORE,  let  me  intreat  you  to  read  it  with  favour  and 
attention,  and  to  pardon  us,  wherein  we  may  seem  to  come 
short  of  some  words,  which  we  have  laboured  to  interpret. 

The  Prologue  of  the  Wisdom  of  Jesus  the  Son  qfSirach. 


581 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

ON  BOSTON  COMMON 1 

BIRD-SONGS 31 

CHARACTER  IN' FEATHERS 53 

IN  THE  WHITE  MOUNTAINS 75 

PHILLIDA  AND  CORIDON 103 

SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE 129 

MINOR  SONGSTERS 155 

WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON          .         .        .         .  185 

A  BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL 211 

AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY 243 

A  MONTH'S  Music ,  277 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 


NUNS  fret  not  at  their  convent's  narrow  room; 
And  hermits  are  contented  with  their  cells ; 
And  students  with  their  pensive  citadels  : 
Maids  at  the  wheel,  the  weaver  at  his  loom, 
Sit  blithe  and  happy;  bees  that  soar  for  bloom, 
High  as  the  highest  Peak  of  Furness-fells, 
Will  murmu"  by  the  hour  in  foxglove  bells : 
In  truth,  the  prison  unto  which  we  doom 
Ourselves,  no  prison  is  :  and  hence  for  me, 
In  sundry  moods  't  was  pastime  to  be  bound 
Within  the  Sonnet's  scanty  plot  of  ground; 
Pleased  if  some  Souls  (for  such  there  needs  must  be) 
Who  have  felt  the  weight  of  too  much  liberty, 
Should  find  brief  solace  there,  as  I  have  found. 

WORDSWORTH. 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 


OUR  Common  and  Garden  are  not  an  ideal 
field  of  operations  for  the  student  of  birds.  No 
doubt  they  are  rather  straitened  and  public. 
Other  things  being  equal,  a  modest  ornitholo- 
gist would  prefer  a  place  where  he  could  stand 
still  and  look  up  without  becoming  himself  a 
gazing-stock.  But  "  it  is  not  in  man  that  walk- 
eth  to  direct  his  steps ;  "  and  if  we  are  ap- 
pointed to  take  our  daily  exercise  in  a  city  park, 
we  shall  very  likely  find  its  narrow  limits  not 
destitute  of  some  partial  compensations.  This, 
at  least,  may  be  depended  upon,  —  our  disap- 
pointments will  be  on  the  right  side  of  the  ac- 
count ;  we  shall  see  more  than  we  have  antici- 
pated rather  than  less,  and  so  our  pleasures  will, 
as  it  were,  come  to  us  double.  I  recall,  for  ex- 
ample, the  heightened  interest  with  which  I  be- 
held my  first  Boston  cat-bird ;  standing  on  the 
back  of  one  of  the  seats  in  the  Garden,  steady- 
ing himself  with  oscillations  of  his  tail,  —  a  con- 
veniently long  balance-pole,  —  while  he  peeped 


4  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 

curiously  down  into  a  geranium  bed,  within  the 
leafy  seclusion  of  which  he  presently  disap- 
peared. He  was  nothing  but  a  cat-bird ;  if  I 
had  seen  him  in  the  country  I  should  have 
passed  him  by  without  a  second  glance;  but 
here,  at  the  base  of  the  Everett  statue,  he 
looked,  somehow,  like  a  bird  of  another  feather. 
Since  then,  it  is  true,  I  have  learned  that  his  oc- 
casional presence  with  us  in  the  season  of  the 
semi-annual  migration  is  not  a  matter  for  aston- 
ishment. At  that  time,  however,  I  was  happily 
more  ignorant;  and  therefore,  as  I  say,  my 
pleasure  was  twofold,  —  the  pleasure,  that  is,  of 
the  bird's  society  and  of  the  surprise. 

There  are  plenty  of  people,  I  am  aware,  who 
assert  that  there  are  no  longer  any  native  birds 
in  our  city  grounds,  —  or,  at  the  most,  only  a 
few  robins.  Formerly  things  were  different, 
they  have  heard,  but  now  the  abominable  Eng- 
lish sparrows  monopolize  every  nook  and  corner. 
These  wise  persons  speak  with  an  air  of  posi- 
tiveness,  and  doubtless  ought  to  know  whereof 
they  affirm.  Hath  not  a  Bos  toman  eyes  ?  And 
doth  he  not  cross  the  Common  every  day  ?  But 
it  is  proverbially  hard  to  prove  a  negative  ;  and 
some  of  us,  with  no  thought  of  being  cynical, 
have  ceased  to  put  unqualified  trust  in  other 
people's  eyesight,  —  especially  since  we  have 
found  our  own  to  fall  a  little  short  of  absolute 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON.  5 

infallibility.  My  own  vision,  by  the  way,  is 
reasonably  good,  if  I  may  say  so  ;  at  any  rate  I 
am  not  stone-blind.  Yet  here  have  I  been  per- 
ambulating the  Public  Garden  for  an  indefinite 
period,  without  seeing  the  first  trace  of  a  field- 
mouse  or  a  shrew.  I  should  have  been  in  ex- 
cellent company  had  I  begun  long  ago  to  main- 
tain that  no  such  animals  exist  within  our  pre- 
cincts. But  the  other  day  a  butcher-bird  made 
us  a  flying  call,  and  almost  the  first  thing  he  did 
was  to  catch  one  of  these  same  furry  dainties 
and  spit  it  upon  a  thorn,  where  anon  I  found 
him  devouring  it.  I  would  not  appear  to 
boast ;  but  really,  when  I  saw  what  Collurio 
had  done,  it  did  not  so  much  as  occur  to  me  to 
quarrel  with  him  because  he  had  discovered  in 
half  an  hour  what  I  had  overlooked  for  ten 
years.  On  the  contrary  I  hastened  to  pay  him 
a  heart-felt  compliment  upon  his  indisputable 
sagacity  and  keenness  as  a  natural  historian  ;  — 
a  measure  of  magnanimity  easily  enough  af- 
forded, since  however  the  shrike  might  excel  me 
at  one  point,  there  could  be  no  question  on  the 
whole  of  my  immeasurable  superiority.  And  I 
cherish  the  hope  that  my  fellow  townsmen,  who, 
as  they  insist,  never  themselves  see  any  birds 
whatever  in  the  Garden  and  Common  (their  at- 
tention being  taken  up  with  matters  more  im- 
portant), may  be  disposed  to  exercise  a  similar 


6  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 

forbearance  toward  me,  when  I  modestly  profess 
that  within  the  last  seven  or  eight  years  I  have 
watched  there  some  thousands  of  specimens, 
representing  not  far  from  seventy  species. 

Of  course  the  principal  part  of  all  the  birds  to 
be  found  in  such  a  place  are  transient  visitors 
merely.  In  the  long  spring  and  autumn  jour- 
neys it  will  all  the  time  be  happening  that 
more  or  less  of  the  travelers  alight  here  for  rest 
and  refreshment.  Now  it  is  only  a  straggler 
or  two  ;  now  a  considerable  flock  of  some  one 
species ;  and  now  a  miscellaneous  collection  of 
perhaps  a  dozen  sorts. 

One  of  the  first  things  to  strike  the  observer 
is  the  uniformity  with  which  such  pilgrims  arrive 
during  the  night.  He  goes  his  rounds  late  in 
the  afternoon,  and  there  is  no  sign  of  anything 
unusual ;  but  the  next  morning  the  grounds  are 
populous,  —  thrushes,  finches,  warblers,  and 
what  not.  And  as  they  come  in  the  dark,  so 
also  do  they  go  away  again.  With  rare  excep- 
tions you  may  follow  them  up  never  so  closely, 
and  they  will  do  nothing  more  than  fly  from 
tree  to  tree,  or  out  of  one  clump  of  shrubbery 
into  another.  Once  in  a  great  while,  under 
some  special  provocation,  they  threaten  a 'longer 
flight ;  but  on  getting  high  enough  to  see  the 
unbroken  array  of  roofs  on  every  side  they 
speedily  grow  confused,  and  after  a  few  shift- 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON.  7 

ings  of  their  course  dive  hurriedly  into  the  near- 
est tree.  It  was  a  mistake  their  stopping  here 
in  the  first  place ;  but  once  here,  there  is  noth- 
ing for  it  save  to  put  up  with  the  discomforts  of 
the  situation  till  after  sunset.  Then,  please 
heaven,  they  will  be  off,  praying  never  to  find 
themselves  again  in  such  a  Babel. 

That  most  of  our  smaller  birds  migrate  by 
night  is  by  this  time  too  well  established  to 
need  corroboration  ;  but  if  the  student  wishes 
to  assure  himself  of  the  fact  at  first  hand,  he 
may  easily  do  it  by  one  or  two  seasons'  observa- 
tions in  our  Common,  —  or,  I  suppose,  in  any 
like  inclosure.  And  if  he  be  blest  with  an  or- 
nithologically  educated  ear,  he  may  still  further 
confirm  his  faith  by  standing  on  Beacon  Hill  in 
the  evening  —  as  I  myself  have  often  done  — 
and  listening  to  the  chips  of  warblers,  or  the 
tseeps  of  sparrows,  as  these  little  wanderers, 
hour  after  hour,  pass  through  the  darkness  over 
the  city.  Why  the  birds  follow  this  plan,  what 
advantages  they  gain  or  what  perils  they  avoid 
by  making  their  flight  nocturnal,  is  a  question 
with  which  our  inquisitive  friend  will  perhaps 
find  greater  difficulty.  I  should  be  glad,  for 
one,  to  hear  his  explanation. 

As  a  rule,  our  visitors  tarry  with  us  for  two  or 
three  days ;  at  least  I  have  noticed  that  to  be 
true  in  many  cases  where  their  numbers,  or  size, 


8  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 

or  rarity  made  it  posssible  to  be  reasonably  cer- 
tain when  the  arrival  and  departure  took  place  ; 
and  in  so  very  limited  a  field  it  is  of  course 
comparatively  easy  to  keep  track  of  the  same  in- 
dividual during  his  stay,  and,  so  to  speak,  be- 
come acquainted  with  him.  I  remember  with 
interest  several  such  acquaintanceships. 

One  of  these  was  with  a  yellow-bellied  wood- 
pecker, the  first  I  had  ever  seen.  He  made  his 
appearance  one  morning  in  October,  along  with 
a  company  of  chickadees  and  other  birds,  and 
at  once  took  up  his  quarters  on  a  maple-tree 
near  the  Ether  monument.  I  watched  his 
movements  for  some  time,  and  at  noon,  hap- 
pening to  be  in  the  same  place  again,  found 
him  still  there.  And  there  he  remained  four 
days.  I  went  to  look  at  him  several  times 
daily,  and  almost  always  found  him  either  on 
the  maple  or  on  a  tulip  tree  a  few  yards  dis- 
tant. Without  question  the  sweetness  of  maple 
sap  was  known  to  SpTiyropicus  varius  long  be- 
fore our  human  ancestors  discovered  it,  and  this 
particular  bird,  to  judge  from  his  actions,  must 
have  been  a  genuine  connoisseur ;  at  all  events 
he  seemed  to  recognize  our  Boston  tree  as  of  a 
sort  not  to  be  met  with  every  day,  although 
to  my  less  critical  sense  it  was  nothing  but  an 
ordinary  specimen  of  the  common  Acer  dasy- 
carpum.  He  was  extremely  industrious,  as  is 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON.  9 

the  custom  of  his  family,  and  paid  no  attention 
to  the  children  playing  about,  or  to  the  men 
who  sat  under  his  tree,  with  the  back  of  their 
seat  resting  against  the  trunk.  As  for  the 
children's  noise,  he  likely  enough  enjoyed  it ; 
for  he  is  a  noisy  fellow  himself  and  famous  as 
a  drummer.  An  aged  clergyman  in  Washing- 
ton told  me  —  in  accents  half  pathetic,  half  re- 
vengeful—  that  at  a  certain  time  of  the  year 
he  could  scarcely  read  his  Bible  on  Sunday 
mornings,  because  of  the  racket  which  this 
woodpecker  made  hammering  on  the  tin  roof 
overhead. 

Another  of  my  acquaintances  was  of  a  very 
different  type,  a  female  Maryland  yellow-throat. 
This  lovely  creature,  a  most  exquisite,  dainty 
bit  of  bird  flesh,  was  in  the  Garden  all  by  her- 
self on  the  6th  of  October,  when  the  great  ma- 
jority of  her  relatives  must  have  been  already 
well  on  their  way  toward  the  sunny  South. 
She  appeared  to  be  perfectly  contented,  and 
allowed  me  to  watch  her  closely,  only  scolding 
mildly  now  and  then  when  I  became  too  in- 
quisitive. How  I  did  admire  her  bravery  and 
peace  of  mind;  feeding  so  quietly,  with  that 
long,  lonesome  journey  before  her,  and  the  cold 
weather  coming  on !  No  wonder  the  Great 
Teacher  pointed  his  lesson  of  trust  with  the 
injunction,  "  Behold  the  fowls  of  the  air." 


10  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 

A  passenger  even  worse  belated  than  this 
warbler  was  a  chipping  sparrow  that  I  found 
hopping  about  the  edge  of  the  Beacon  Street 
Mall  on  the  6th  of  December,  seven  or  eight 
weeks  after  all  chippers  were  supposed  to  be 
south  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  line.  Some  ac- 
cident had  detained  him  doubtless ;  but  he 
showed  no  signs  of  worry  or  haste,  as  I  walked 
round  him,  scrutinizing  every  feather,  lest  he 
should  be  some  tree  sparrow  traveling  in  dis- 
guise. 

There  is  not  much  to  attract  birds  to  the 
Common  in  the  winter,  since  we  offer  them 
neither  evergreens  for  shelter  nor  weed  patches 
for  a  granary.  I  said  to  one  of  the  gardeners 
that  I  thought  it  a  pity,  on  this  account,  that 
some  of  the  plants,  especially  the  zinnias  and 
marigolds,  were  not  left  to  go  to  seed.  A  lit- 
tle untidiness,  in  so  good  a  cause,  could  hardly 
be  taken  amiss  by  even  the  most  fastidious  tax- 
payer. He  replied  that  it  would  be  of  no  use ; 
we  had  n't  any  birds  now,  and  we  should  n't 
have  any  so  long  as  the  English  sparrows  were 
here  to  drive  them  away.  But  it  would  be  of 
use,  notwithstanding ;  and  certainly  it  would 
afford  a  pleasure  to  many  people  to  see'  flocks 
of  goldfinches,  red-poll  linnets,  tree  sparrows, 
and  possibly  of  the  beautiful  snow  buntings, 
feeding  in  the  Garden  in  midwinter. 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON.  11 

Even  as  things  are,  however,  the  cold  season 
is  sure  to  bring  us  a  few  butcher-birds.  These 
come  on  business,  and  are  now  welcomed  as 
public  benefactors,  though  formerly  our  spar- 
row-loving municipal  authorities  thought  it 
their  duty  to  shoot  them.  They  travel  singly, 
as  a  rule,  and  sometimes  the  same  bird  will  be 
here  for  several  weeks  together.  Then  you  will 
have  no  trouble  about  finding  here  and  there 
in  the  hawthorn  trees  pleasing  evidences  of  his 
activity  and  address.  Collurio  is  brought  up 
to  be  in  love  with  his  work.  In  his  Mother 
Goose  it  is  written,  — 

Fe,  fi,  fo,  farrow! 

I  smell  the  blood  of  an  English  sparrow; 

and  however  long  he  may  live,  he  never  for- 
gets his  early  training.  His  days,  as  the  poet 
says,  are  "  bound  each  to  each  by  natural 
piety."  Happy  lot !  wherein  duty  and  con- 
science go  ever  hand  in  hand ;  for  whose  pos- 
sessor 

"  Love  is  an  unerring  light, 
And  joy  its  own  security." 

In  appearance  the  shrike  resembles  the  mock- 
ing-bird. Indeed,  a  policeman  whom  I  found 
staring  at  one  would  have  it  that  he  was  a 
mocking-bird.  "  Don't  you  see  he  is  ?  And 
he 's  been  singing,  too."  I  had  nothing  to  say 
against  the  singing,  since  the  shrike  will  often 


12  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 

twitter  by  the  half  hour  in  the  very  coldest 
weather.  But  further  discussion  concerning 
the  bird's  identity  was  soon  rendered  needless  ; 
for,  while  we  were  talking,  along  came  a  spar- 
row, and  dropped  carelessly  into  a  hawthorn 
bush,  right  under  the  shrike's  perch.  The  lat- 
ter was  all  attention  instantly,  and,  after  wait- 
ing till  the  sparrow  had  moved  a  little  out  of 
the  thick  of  the  branches,  down  he  pounced. 
He  missed  his  aim,  or  the  sparrow  was  too 
quick  for  him,  and  although  he  made  a  second 
swoop,  and  followed  that  by  a  hot  chase,  he 
speedily  came  back  without  his  prey.  This  lit- 
tle exertion,  however,  seemed  to  have  provoked 
his  appetite  ;  for,  instead  of  resuming  his  cof- 
fee-tree perch,  he  went  into  the  hawthorn,  and 
began  to  feed  upon  the  carcass  of  a  bird  which, 
it  seemed,  he  had  previously  laid  up  in  store. 
He  was  soon  frightened  off  for  a  few  moments 
by  the  approach  of  a  third  man,  and  the  police- 
man improved  the  opportunity  to  visit  the  bush 
and  bring  away  his  breakfast.  When  the  fel- 
low returned  and  found  his  table  empty,  he  did 
not  manifest  the  slightest  disappointment  (the 
shrike  never  does  ;  he  is  a  fatalist,  I  think)  ; 
but  in  order  to  see  what  he  would  do,  the  po- 
liceman tossed  the  body  to  him.  It  lodged  on 
one  of  the  outer  twigs,  and  immediately  the 
shrike  came  for  it;  at  the  same  time  spread- 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON.  13 

ing  his  beautifully  bordered  tail  and  screaming 
loudly.  Whether  these  demonstrations  were  in- 
tended to  express  delight,  or  anger,  or  contempt, 
I  could  not  judge ;  but  he  seized  the  body,  car- 
ried it  back  to  its  old  place,  drove  it  again  upon 
the  thorn,  and  proceeded  to  devour  it  more 
voraciously  than  ever,  scattering  the  feathers 
about  in  a  lively  way  as  he  tore  it  to  pieces. 
The  third  man,  who  had  never  before  seen  such 
a  thing,  stepped  up  within  reach  of  the  bush, 
and  eyed  the  performance  at  his  leisure,  the 
shrike  not  deigning  to  mind  him  in  the  least. 
A  few  mornings  later  the  same  bird  gave  me 
another  and  more  amusing  exhibition  of  his 
nonchalance.  He  was  singing  from  the  top  of 
our  one  small  larch-tree,  and  I  had  stopped 
near  the  bridge  to  look  and  listen,  when  a  milk- 
man entered  at  the  Commonwealth  Avenue 
gate,  both  hands  full  of  cans,  and,  without  no- 
ticing the  shrike,  walked  straight  under  the 
tree.  Just  then,  however,  he  heard  the  notes 
overhead,  and,  looking  up,  saw  the  bird.  As 
if  not  knowing  what  to  make  of  the  creature's 
assurance,  he  stared  at  him  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  putting  down  his  load,  he  seized  the  trunk 
with  both  hands,  and  gave  it  a  good  shake. 
But  the  bird  only  took  a  fresh  hold ;  and  when 
the  man  let  go,  and  stepped  back  to  look  up, 
there  he  sat,  to  all  appearance  as  unconcerned 


14  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 

as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Not  to  be  so 
easily  beaten,  the  man  grasped  the  trunk  again, 
and  shook  it  harder  than  before ;  and  this  time 
Collurio  seemed  to  think  the  joke  had  been 
carried  far  enough,  for  he  took  wing,  and  flew 
to  another  part  of  the  Garden.  The  bravado 
of  the  butcher-bird  is  great,  but  it  is  not  un- 
limited. I  saw  him,  one  day,  shuffling  along  a 
branch  in  a  very  nervous,  unshrikely  fashion, 
and  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  his  unusual  de- 
meanor till  I  caught  sight  of  a  low-flying  hawk 
sweeping  over  the  tree.  Every  creature,  no 
matter  how  brave,  has  some  other  creature  to 
be  afraid  of ;  otherwise,  how  would  the  world 
get  on  ? 

The  advent  of  spring  is  usually  announced 
during  the  first  week  of  March,  sometimes  by 
the  robins,  sometimes  by  the  bluebirds.  The 
latter,  it  should  be  remarked,  are  an  exception 
to  the  rule  that  our  spring  and  autumn  callers 
arrive  and  depart  in  the  night.  My  impression 
is  that  their  migrations  are  ordinarily  accom- 
plished by  daylight.  At  all  events  I  have  often 
seen  them  enter  the  Common,  alight  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  start  off  again ;  while  I  have 
never  known  them  to  settle  down  for  a  visit  of 
two  or  three  days,  in  the  manner  of  most  other 
species.  This  last  peculiarity  may  be  owing  to 
the  fact  that  the  European  sparrows  treat  them 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON.  15 

with  even  more  than  their  customary  measure 
of  incivility,  till  the  poor  wayfarers  have  liter- 
ally no  rest  for  the  soles  of  their  feet.  They 
breed  by  choice  in  just  such  miniature  meet- 
ing-houses as  our  city  fathers  have  provided  so 
plentifully  for  their  foreign  proteges  ;  and  prob- 
ably the  latter,  being  aware  of  this,  feel  it  nec- 
essary to  discourage  at  the  outset  any  idea 
which  these  blue-coated  American  interlopers 
may  have  begun  to  entertain  of  settling  in  Bos- 
ton for  the  summer. 

The  robins  may  be  said  to  be  abundant  with 
us  for  more  than  half  the  year  ;  but  they  are 
especially  numerous  for  a  month  or  two  early 
in  the  season.  I  have  counted  more  than  thirty 
feeding  at  once  in  the  lower  half  of  the  parade 
ground,  and  at  nightfall  have  seen  forty  at 
roost  in  one  tree,  with  half  as  many  more  in 
the  tree  adjoining.  They  grow  extremely  noisy 
about  sunset,  filling  the  air  with  songs,  cackles, 
and  screams,  till  even  the  most  stolid  citizen 
pauses  a  moment  to  look  up  at  the  authors  of  so 
much  clamor. 

By  the  middle  of  March  the  song  sparrows 
begin  to  appear,  and  for  a  month  after  this  they 
furnish  delightful  music  daily.  I  have  heard 
them  caroling  with  all  cheerfulness  in  the  midst 
of  a  driving  snow-storm.  The  dear  little  opti- 
mists !  They  never  doubt  that  the  sun  is  on 


16  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 

their  side.  Of  necessity  they  go  elsewhere  to 
find  nests  for  themselves,  where  they  may  lay 
their  young ;  for  they  build  on  the  ground,  and 
a  lawn  which  is  mowed  every  two  or  three  days 
would  be  quite  out  of  the  question. 

At  the  best,  a  public  park  is  not  a  favorable 
spot  in  which  to  study  bird  music.  Species 
that  spend  the  summer  here,  like  the  robin, 
the  warbling  vireo,  the  red -eyed  vireo,  the 
chipper,  the  goldfinch,  and  the  Baltimore  ori- 
ole, of  course  sing  freely  ;  but  the  much  larger 
number  which  merely  drop  in  upon  us  by  the 
way  are  busy  feeding  during  their  brief  sojourn, 
and  besides  are  kept  in  a  state  of  greater  or 
less  excitement  by  the  frequent  approach  of 
passers-by.  Nevertheless,  I  once  heard  a  bob- 
olink sing  in  our  Garden  (the  only^ne  I  ever 
saw  there),  and  once  a  brown  thrush,  although 
neither  was  sufficiently  at  home  to  do  himself 
justice.  The  "  Peabody  "  song  of  the  white- 
throated  sparrows  is  to  be  heard  occasionally 
during  both  migrations.  It  is  the  more  wel- 
come in  such  a  place,  because,  to  my  ears  at 
least,  it  is  one  of  the  wildest  of  all  bird  notes  ; 
it  is  among  the  last  to  be  heard  at  night  in  the 
White  Mountain  woods,  as  well  as  one  of  the 
last  to  die  away  beneath  you  as  you  climb  the 
higher  peaks.  On  the  Crawford  bridle  path, 
for  instance,  I  remember  that  the  song  of  this 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON.  17 

bird  and  that  of  the  gray-cheeked  thrush  1  were 
heard  all  along  the  ridge  from  Mount  Clinton 
to  Mount  Washington.  The  finest  bird  con- 
cert I  ever  attended  in  Boston  was  given  on 
Monument  Hill  by  a  great  chorus  of  fox-col- 
ored sparrows,  one  morning  in  April.  A  high 
wind  had  been  blowing  during  the  night,  and 
the  moment  I  entered  the  Common  I  discovered 
that  there  had  been  an  extraordinary  arrival  of 
birds,  of  various  species.  The  parade  ground 
was  full  of  snow-birds,  while  the  hill  was  cov- 
ered with  fox-sparrows,  —  hundreds  of  them,  I 
thought,  and  many  of  them  in  full  song.  It 
was  a  royal  concert,  but  the  audience,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  was  small.  It  is  unfortunate,  in 
some  aspects  of  the  case,  that  birds  have  never 
learned  that  a  matinee  ought  to  begin  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

These  sparrows  please  me  by  their  lordly 
treatment  of  their  European  cousins.  One  in 
particular,  who  was  holding  his  ground  against 
three  of  the  Britishers,  moved  me  almost  to  the 
point  of  giving  him  three  cheers. 

Of  late  a  few  crow  blackbirds  have  taken  to 

1  My  identification  of  Turdus  Alicice  was  based  entirely  upon 
the  song,  and  so,  of  course,  had  no  final  scientific  value.  It  was 
confirmed  a  few  weeks  later,  however,  by  Mr.  William  Brewster, 
who  took  specimens.  (See  Bulletin  of  the  Nuttall  Ornithological 
Club,  January,  1883,  p.  12.)  Prior  to  this  the  species  was  not 
known  to  breed  in  New  England. 
2 


18  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 

building  their  nests  in  one  corner  of  our  do- 
main ;  and  they  attract  at  least  their  full  share 
of  attention,  as  they  strut  about  the  lawns  in 
their  glossy  clerical  suits.  One  of  the  garden- 
ers tells  me  that  they  sometimes  kill  the  spar- 
rows. I  hope  they  do.  The  crow  blackbird's 
attempts  at  song  are  ludicrous  in  the  extreme, 
as  every  note  is  cracked,  and  is  accompanied  by 
a  ridiculous  caudal  gesture.  But  he  is  ranked 
among  the  oscines,  and  seems  to  know  it ;  and, 
after  all,  it  is  only  the  common  fault  of  singers 
not  to  be  able  to  detect  their  own  want  of  tune- 
fulness. 

I  was  once  crossing  the  Common,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  day,  when  I  was  suddenly  arrested 
by  the  call  of  a  cuckoo.  At  the  same  instant 
two  men  passed  me,  and  I  heard  one  say  to  the 
other,  "  Hear  that  cuckoo  !  Do  you  know  what 
it  means ?  No?  Well, /know  what  it  means: 
it  means  that  it 's  going  to  rain."  It  did  rain, 
although  not  for  a  number  of  days,  I  believe. 
But  probably  the  cuckoo  has  adopted  the  mod- 
ern method  of  predicting  the  weather  some  time 
in  advance.  Not  very  long  afterwards  I  again 
heard  this  same  note  on  the  Common ;  but  it 
was  several  years  before  I  was  able  to  put  the 
cuckoo  into  my  Boston  list,  as  a  bird  actually 
seen.  Indeed  it  is  not  so  very  easy  to  see  him 
anywhere  ;  for  he  makes  a  practice  of  robbing 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON.  19 

the  nests  of  smaller  birds,  and  is  always  skulk- 
ing about  from  one  tree  to  another,  as  though 
he  were  afraid  of  being  discovered,  as  no  doubt 
he  is.  What  Wordsworth  wrote  of  the  Euro- 
pean species  (allowance  being  made  for  a 
proper  degree  of  poetic  license)  is  equally  ap- 
plicable to  ours  :  — 

"  No  bird,  but  an  invisible  thing, 
A  voice,  a  mystery." 

When  I  did  finally  get  a  sight  of  the  fellow  it 
was  on  this  wise.  As  I  entered  the  Garden, 
one  morning  in  September,  a  goldfinch  was 
calling  so  persistently  and  with  such  anxious 
emphasis  from  the  large  sophora  tree  that  I 
turned  my  steps  that  way  to  ascertain  what 
could  be  the  trouble.  I  took  the  voice  for  a 
young  bird's,  but  found  instead  a  male  adult, 
who  was  twitching  his  tail  nervously  and  scold- 
ing phee-phee,  phee-phee,  at  a  black-billed 
cuckoo  perched  near  at  hand,  in  his  usual 
sneaking  attitude.  The  goldfinch  called  and 
called,  till  my  patience  was  nearly  spent. 
(Small  birds  know  better  than  to  attack  a  big 
one  so  long  as  the  latter  is  at  rest.)  Then,  at 
last,  the  cuckoo  started  off,  the  finch  after  him, 
and  a  few  minutes  later  I  saw  the  same  flight 
and  chase  repeated.  Several  other  goldfinches 
were  flying  about  in  the  neighborhood,  but 
only  this  one  was  in  the  least  excited.  Doubt- 


20  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 

less  he  had  special  reasons  of  his  own  for  dread- 
ing the  presence  of  this  cowardly  foe. 

One  of  our  regular  visitors  twice  a  year  is  the 
brown  creeper.  He  is  so  small  and  silent,  and 
withal  his  color  is  so  like  that  of  the  bark  to 
which  he  clings,  that  I  suspect  he  is  seldom  no- 
ticed even  by  persons  who  pass  within  a  few 
feet  of  him.  But  he  is  not  too  small  to  be  hec- 
tored by  the  sparrows,  and  I  have  before  now 
been  amused  at  the  encounter.  The  sparrow 
catches  sight  of  the  creeper,  and  at  once  bears 
down  upon  him,  when  the  creeper  darts  to  the 
other  side  of  the  tree,  and  alights  again  a  little 
further  up.  The  sparrow  is  after  him  ;  but,  as 
he  comes  dashing  round  the  trunk,  he  always 
seems  to  expect  to  find  the  creeper  perched  upon 
some  twig,  as  any  other  bird  would  be,  and  it 
is  only  after  a  little  reconnoitring  that  he  again 
discovers  him  clinging  to  the  vertical  bole. 
Then  he  makes  another  onset  with  a  similar  re- 
sult ;  and  these  manoeuvres  are  repeated,  till  the 
creeper  becomes  disgusted,  and  takes  to  another 
tree. 

The  olive-backed  thrushes  and  the  hermits 
may  be  looked  for  every  spring  and  autumn, 
and  I  have  known  forty  or  fifty  of  the  fo'rmer  to 
be  present  at  once.  The  hermits  most  often 
travel  singly  or  in  pairs,  though  a  small  flock  is 
not  so  very  uncommon.  Both  species  preserve 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON.  21 

absolute  silence  while  here;  I  have  watched 
hundreds  of  them,  without  hearing  so  much  as 
an  alarm  note.  They  are  far  from  being  pug- 
nacious, but  their  sense  of  personal  dignity  is 
large,  and  once  in  a  while,  when  the  sparrows 
pester  them  beyond  endurance,  they  assume  the 
offensive  with  much  spirit.  There  are  none  of 
our  feathered  guests  whom  I  am  gladder  to  see  ; 
the  sight  of  them  inevitably  fills  me  with  re- 
membrances of  happy  vacation  seasons  among 
the  hills  of  New  Hampshire.  If  only  they 
would  sing  on  the  Common  as  they  do  in  those 
northern  woods !  The  whole  city  would  come 
out  to  hear  them. 

During  every  migration  large  numbers  of 
warblers  visit  us.  I  have  noted  the  golden- 
crowned  thrush,  the  small-billed  water-thrush, 
the  black-and-white  creeper,  the  Maryland  yel- 
low-throat, the  blue  yellow-back,  the  black- 
throated  green,  the  black-throated  blue,  the  yel- 
low-rump, the  summer  yellow-bird,  the  black- 
poll,  the  Canada  flycatcher,  and  the  redstart. 
No  doubt  the  list  is  far  from  complete,  as,  of 
course,  I  have  not  used  either  glass  or  gun  ;  and 
without  one  or  other  of  these  aids  the  observer 
must  be  content  to  let  many  of  these  small,  tree- 
top-haunting  birds  pass  unidentified.  The  two 
kinglets  give  us  a  call  occasionally,  and  in  the 
late  summer  and  early  autumn  the  humming- 


22  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 

birds   spend   several  weeks   about   our   flower- 
beds. 

It  would  be  iiard  for  the  latter  to  find  a  more 
agreeable  stopping-place  in  the  whole  course  of 
their  southward  journey.  What  could  they  ask 
better  than  beds  of  tuberoses,  Japanese  lilies, 
Nicotiana  (against  the  use  of  which  they  mani- 
fest not  the  slightest  scruple),  petunias,  and  the 
like  ?  Having  in  mind  the  Duke  of  Argyll's 
assertion  that  "  no  bird  can  ever  fly  backwards," 1 
I  have  more  than  once  watched  these  humming- 
birds at  their  work  on  purpose  to  see  whether 
they  would  respect  the  noble  Scotchman's  dic- 
tum. I  am  compelled  to  report  that  they  ap- 
peared never  to  have  heard  of  his  theory.  At 
any  rate  they  very  plainly  did  fly  tail  foremost ; 
and  that  not  only  in  dropping  from  a  blossom, 
—  in  which  case  the  seeming  flight  might  have 
been,  as  the  duke  maintains,  an  optical  illusion 
merely,  —  but  even  while  backing  out  of  the 
flower-tube  in  an  upward  direction.  They  are 
commendably  catholic  in  their  tastes.  I  saw 
one  exploring  the  disk  of  a  sun-flower,  in  com- 
pany with  a  splendid  monarch  butterfly.  Pos- 
sibly he  knew  that  the  sunflower  was  just  then 
in  fashion.  Only  a  few  minutes  earlier  the  same 
bird  —  or  another  like  him — had  chased  an 
English  sparrow  out  of  the  Garden,  across  Ar- 

i  The  Reign  of  Law,  p.  140. 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON.  23 

lington  Street,  and  up  to  the  very  roof  of  a 
house,  to  the  great  delight  of  at  least  one  patri- 
otic Yankee.  At  another  time  I  saw  one  of 
these  tiny  beauties  making  his  morning  toilet 
in  a  very  pretty  fashion,  leaning  forward,  and 
brushing  first  one  cheek  and  then  the  other 
against  the  wet  rose  leaf  on  which  he  was 
perched. 

The  only  swallows  on  my  list  are  the  barn 
swallows  and  the  white-breasted.  The  former, 
as  they  go  hawking  about  the  crowded  streets, 
must  often  send  the  thoughts  of  rich  city  mer- 
chants back  to  the  big  barns  of  their  grandfa- 
thers, far  off  in  out-of-the-way  country  places. 
Of  course  we  have  the  chimney  swifts,  also 
(near  relatives  of  the  humming-birds !),  but 
they  are  not  swallows. 

Speaking  of  the  swallows,  I  am  reminded  of  a 
hawk  that  came  to  Boston,  one  morning,  fully 
determined  not  to  go  away  without  a  taste  of 
the  famous  imported  sparrows.  It  is  nothing 
unusual  for  hawks  to  be  seen  flying  over  the 
city,  but  I  had  never  before  known  one  actually 
to  make  the  Public  Garden  his  hunting-ground. 
This  bird  perched  for  a  while  on  the  Arlington 
Street  fence,  within  a  few  feet  of  a  passing  car- 
riage ;  next  he  was  on  the  ground,  peering  into 
a  bed  of  rhododendrons  ;  then  for  a  long  time 
he  sat  still  in  a  tree,  while  numbers  of  men 


24  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 

walked  back  and  forth  underneath;  between 
whiles  he  sailed  about,  on  the  watch  for  his 
prey.  On  one  of  these  last  occasions  a  little 
company  of  swallows  came  along,  and  one  of 
them  immediately  went  out  of  his  way  to  swoop 
down  upon  the  hawk,  and  deal  him  a  dab. 
Then,  as  he  rejoined  his  companions,  I  heard 
him  give  a  little  chuckle^  as  though  he  said, 
"  There !  did  you  see  me  peck  at  him  ?  You 
don't  think  I  am  afraid  of  such  a  fellow  as  that, 
do  you  ?  "  To  speak  in  Thoreau's  manner,  I 
rejoiced  in  the  incident  as  a  fresh  illustration  of 
the  ascendency  of  spirit  over  matter. 

One  is  always  glad  to  find  a  familiar  bird 
playing  a  new  rdle,  and  especially  in  such  a 
spot  as  the  Common,  where,  at  the  best,  one 
can  hope  to  see  so  very  little.  It  may  be  as- 
sumed, therefore,  that  I  felt  peculiarly  grateful 
to  a  white-bellied  nuthatch,  when  I  discovered 
him  hopping  about  on  the  ground  —  on  Monu- 
ment Hill ;  a  piece  of  humility  such  as  I  had 
never  before  detected  any  nuthatch  in  the  prac- 
tice of.  Indeed,  this  fellow  looked  so  unlike 
himself,  moving  briskly  through  the  grass  with 
long,  awkward  leaps,  that  at  first  sight  I  failed 
to  recognize  him.  He  was  occupied 'with  turn- 
ing over  the  dry  leaves,  one  after  another,  — 
hunting  for  cocoons,  or  things  of  that  sort,  I 
suppose.  Twice  he  found  what  he  was  in  search 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON.  25 

of;  but  instead  of  handling  the  leaf  on  the 
ground,  he  flew  with  it  to  the  trunk  of  an  elm, 
wedged  it  into  a  crevice  of  the  bark,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  hammer  it  sharply  with  his  beak. 
Great  is  the  power  of  habit !  Strange  —  is  it 
not?  —  that  any  bird  should  find  it  easiest  to 
do  such  work  while  clinging  to  a  perpendicular 
surface  !  Yes ;  but  how  does  it  look  to  a  dog, 
I  wonder,  that  men  can  walk  better  on  their  hind 
legs  than  on  all  fours  ?  Everything  is  a  mira- 
cle from  somebody's  point  of  view.  The  spar- 
rows were  inclined  to  make  game  of  my  oblig- 
ing little  performer ;  but  he  would  have  none 
of  their  insolence,  and  repelled  every  approach 
in  dashing  style.  In  exactly  three  weeks  from 
this  time,  and  on  the  same  hillside,  I  came  upon 
another  nuthatch  similarly  employed  ;  but  be- 
fore this  one  had  turned  up  a  leaf  to  his  mind, 
the  sparrows  became  literally  too  many  for  him, 
and  he  took  flight,  —  to  my  no  small  disappoint- 
ment. 

It  would  be  unfair  not  to  name  others  of  my 
city  guests,  even  though  I  have  nothing  in  par- 
ticular to  record  concerning  them.  The  Wilson 
thrush  and  the  red-bellied  nuthatch  I  have  seen 
once  or  twice  each.  The  chewink  is  more  con- 
stant in  his  visits,  as  is  also  the  golden-winged 
woodpecker.  Our  familiar  little  downy  wood- 
pecker, on  the  other  hand,  has  thus  far  kept 


26  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 

out  of  my  catalogue.  No  other  bird's  absence 
has  surprised  me  so  much ;  and  it  is  the  more 
remarkable  because  the  comparatively  rare  yel- 
low-bellied species  is  to  be  met  with  nearly 
every  season.  Cedar-birds  show  themselves  ir- 
regularly. One  March  morning,  when  the 
ground  was  covered  with  snow,  a  flock  of  per- 
haps a  hundred  collected  in  one  of  the  taller 
maples  in  the  Garden,  till  the  tree  looked  from 
a  distance  like  an  autumn  hickory,  its  leafless 
branches  still  thickly  dotted  with  nuts.  Four 
days  afterward,  what  seemed  to  be  the  same 
company  made  their  appearance  in  the  Com- 
mon. Of  the  flycatchers,  I  have  noted  the 
kingbird,  the  least  flycatcher,  and  the  phoebe. 
The  two  former  stay  to  breed.  Twice  in  the 
fall  I  have  found  a  kingfisher  about  the  Frog 
Pond.  Once  the  fellow  sprung  his  watchman's 
rattle.  He  was  perhaps  my  most  unexpected 
caller,  and  for  a  minute  or  so  I  was  not  en- 
tirely sure  whether  indeed  I  was  in  Boston  or 
not.  The  blue  jay  and  the  crow  know  too 
much  to  be  caught  in  such  a  place,  although 
one  may  often  enough  see  the  latter  passing 
overhead.  Every  now  and  then,  in  the  travel- 
ing season,  a  stray  sandpiper  or  two  will  be  ob- 
served teetering  round  the  edge  of  the  Common 
and  Garden  ponds ;  and  one  day,  when  the  lat- 
ter was  drained,  I  saw  quite  a  flock  of  some 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON.  27 

one  of  the  smaller  species  feeding  over  its  bot- 
tom. Very  picturesque  they  were,  feeding  and 
flying  in  close  order.  Besides  these  must  be 
mentioned  the  yellow-throated  vireo,  the  bay- 
winged  bunting,  the  swamp  sparrow,  the  field 
sparrow,  the  purple  finch,  the  red-poll  linnet, 
the  savanna  sparrow,  the  tree  sparrow,  the 
night-hawk  (whose  celebrated  tumbling  trick 
may  often  be  witnessed  by  evening  strollers  in 
the  Garden),  the  woodcock  (I  found  the  body 
of  one  which  had  evidently  met  its  death  against 
the  electric  wire),  and  among  the  best  of  all, 
the  chickadees,  who  sometimes  make  the  whole 
autumn  cheerful  with  their  presence,  but  about 
whom  I  say  nothing  here  because  I  have  said  so 
much  elsewhere. 

Of  fugitive  cage-birds,  I  recall  only  five  —  all 
in  the  Garden.  One  of  these,  feeding  tamely 
in  the  path,  I  suspected  for  an  English  robin  ; 
but  he  was  not  in  full  plumage,  and  my  conjec- 
ture may  have  been  incorrect.  Another  was  a 
diminutive  finch,  dressed  in  a  suit  of  red,  blue, 
and  green.  He  sat  in  a  bush,  saying  JV0,  no  ! 
to  a  feline  admirer  who  was  making  love  to  him 
earnestly.  The  others  were  a  mocking-bird,  a 
cardinal  grosbeak,  and  a  paroquet.  The  mock- 
ing-bird and  the  grosbeak  might  possibly  have 
been  wild,  had  the  question  been  one  of  lati- 
tude simply,  but  their  demeanor  satisfied  me  to 


28  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 

the  contrary.  The  former's  awkward  attempt 
at  alighting  on  the  tip  of  a  fence-picket  seemed 
evidence  enough  that  he  had  not  been  long  at 
large.  The  paroquet  was  a  splendid  creature, 
with  a  brilliant  orange  throat  darkly  spotted. 
He  flew  from  tree  to  tree,  chattering  gayly,  and 
had  a  really  pretty  song.  Evidently  he  was  in 
the  best  of  spirits,  notwithstanding  the  rather 
obtrusive  attentions  of  a  crowd  of  house  spar- 
rows, who  appeared  to  look  upon  such  a  wearer 
of  the  green  as  badly  out  of  place  in  this  new 
England  of  theirs.  But  for  all  his  vivacity,  I 
feared  he  would  not  be  long  in  coming  to  grief. 
If  he  escaped  other  perils,  the  cold  weather 
must  soon  overtake  him,  for  it  was  now  the 
middle  of  September,  and  his  last  state  would 
be  worse  than  his  first.  He  had  better  have 
kept  his  cage;  unless,  indeed,  he  was  one  of 
the  nobler  spirits  that  prefer  death  to  slavery. 

Of  all  the  birds  thus  far  named,  very  few 
seemed  to  attract  the  attention  of  anybody 
except  myself.  But  there  remains  one  other, 
whom  I  have  reserved  for  the  last,  not  because 
he  was  in  himself  the  noblest  or  the  most  in- 
teresting (though  he  was  perhaps  the  biggest), 
but  because,  unlike  the  rest,  he  did  succeed  in 
winning  the  notice  of  the  multitude.  In  fact, 
my  one  owl,  to  speak  theatrically,  made  a  de- 
cided hit ;  for  a  single  afternoon  he  may  be 


ON  BOSTON  COMMON.  29 

said  to  have  been  famous,  —  or  at  all  events 
notorious,  if  any  old-fashioned  reader  be  dis- 
posed to  insist  upon  this  all  but  obsolete  dis- 
tinction. His  triumph,  such  as  it  was,  had  al- 
ready begun  when  I  first  discovered  him,  for  he 
was  then  perched  well  up  in  an  elm,  while  a 
mob  of  perhaps  forty  men  and  boys  were  pelt- 
ing him  with  sticks  and  stones.  Even  in  the 
dim  light  of  a  cloudy  November  afternoon  he 
seemed  quite  bewildered  and  helpless,  making 
no  attempt  to  escape,  although  the  missiles  were 
flying  past  him  on  all  sides.  The  most  he  did 
was  to  shift  his  perch  when  he  was  hit,  which, 
to  be  sure,  happened  pretty  often.  Once  he 
was  struck  so  hard  that  he  came  tumbling  to- 
ward the  ground,  and  I  began  to  think  it  was 
all  over  with  him  ;  but  when  about  half-way 
down  he  recovered  himself,  and  by  dint  of  pain- 
ful flappings  succeeded  in  alighting  just  out  of 
the  reach  of  the  crowd.  At  once  there  were 
loud  cries  :  "  Don't  kill  him  !  Don't  kill  him  ! " 
and  while  the  scamps  were  debating  what  to  do 
next,  he  regained  his  breath,  and  flew  up  into 
the  tree  again,  as  high  as  before.  Then  the 
stoning  began  anew.  For  my  part  I  pitied  the 
fellow  sincerely,  and  wished  him  well  out  of 
the  hands  of  his  tormentors  ;  but  I  found  my- 
self laughing  with  the  rest  to  see  him  turn  his 
head  and  stare,  with  his  big,  vacant  eyes,  after 


30  ON  BOSTON  COMMON. 

a  stone  which  had  just  whizzed  by  his  ear. 
Everybody  that  came  along  stopped  for  a  few 
minutes  to  witness  the  sport,  and  Beacon  Street 
filled  up  with  carriages  till  it  looked  as  if  some 
holiday  procession  were  halted  in  front  of  the 
State  House.  I  left  the  crowd  still  at  their 
work,  and  must  do  them  the  justice  to  say  that 
some  of  them  were  excellent  marksmen.  An 
old  negro,  who  stood  near  me,  was  bewailing 
the  law  against  shooting ;  else,  he  said,  he 
would  go  home  and  get  his  gun.  He  described, 
with  appropriate  gestures,  how  very  easily  he 
could  fetch  the  bird  down.  Perhaps  he  after- 
wards plucked  up  courage  to  violate  the  stat- 
ute. At  any  rate  the  next  morning's  newspa- 
pers reported  that  an  owl  had  been  shot,  the 
day  before,  on  the  Common.  Poor  bird  of  wis- 
dom !  His  sudden  popularity  proved  to  be  the 
death  of  him.  Like  many  of  loftier  name  he 
found  it  true,  — 

'*  The  path  of  glory  leads  but  to  the  grave." 


BIRD-SONGS. 


Canst  thou  imagine  where  those  spirits  lire 
Which  make  such  delicate  music  in  the  woods  ? 

SHELLEY. 


BIRD-SONGS. 


WHY  do  birds  sing  ?  Has  their  music  a  mean- 
ing, or  is  it  all  a  matter  of  blind  impulse  ?  Some 
bright  morning  in  March,  as  you  go  out-of-doors, 
you  are  greeted  by  the  notes  of  the  first  robin. 
Perched  in  a  leafless  tree,  there  he  sits,  facing 
the  sun  like  a  genuine  fire-worshiper,  and  sing- 
ing as  though  he  would  pour  out  his  very  soul. 
What  is  he  thinking  about  ?  What  spirit  pos- 
sesses him  ? 

It  is  easy  to  ask  questions  until  the  simplest 
matter  comes  to  seem,  what  at  bottom  it  really 
is,  a  thing  altogether  mysterious ;  but  if  our  robin 
could  understand  us,  he  would,  likely  enough, 
reply :  — 

"  Why  do  you  talk  in  this  way,  as  if  it  were 
something  requiring  explanation  that  a  bird 
should  sing  ?  You  seem  to  have  forgotten  that 
everybody  sings,  or  almost  everybody.  Think 
of  the  insects,  —  the  bees  and  the  crickets  and 
the  locusts,  to  say  nothing  of  your  intimate 
friends,  the  mosquitoes  !  Think,  too,  of  the  frogs 

3 


34  BIRD-SONGS. 

and  the  hylas  !  If  these  cold-blooded,  low-lived 
creatures,  after  sleeping  all  winter  in  the  mud,1 
are  free  to  make  so  much  use  of  their  voices, 
surely  a  bird  of  the  air  may  sing  his  unobtrusive 
song  without  being  cross-examined  concerning 
the  purpose  of  it.  Why  do  the  mice  sing,  and 
the  monkeys,  and  the  woodchucks?  Indeed, 
sir,  —  if  one  may  be  so  bold,  —  why  do  you  sing, 
yourself  ?  " 

This  matter  -  of  -  fact  Darwinism  need  not 
frighten  us.  It  will  do  us  no  harm  to  remember, 
now  and  then,  "  the  hole  of  the  pit  whence  we 
were  digged  ; "  and  besides,  as  far  as  any  rela- 
tionship between  us  and  the  birds  is  concerned, 
it  is  doubtful  whether  we  are  the  party  to  com- 
plain. 

But  avoiding  "  genealogies  and  contentions," 
and  taking  up  the  question  with  which  we  be- 
gan, we  may  safely  say  that  birds  sing,  some- 
times to  gratify  an  innate  love  for  sweet  sounds ; 
sometimes  to  win  a  mate,  or  to  tell  their  love 
to  a  mate  already  won ;  sometimes  as  practice, 
with  a  view  to  self-improvement ;  and  some- 
times for  no  better  reason  than  the  poet's,  —  "I 
do  but  sing  because  I  must."  In  general,  they 

1  There  is  no  Historic-Genealogical  Society  among  the  birds, 
and  the  robin  is  not  aware  that  his  own  remote  ancestors  were  rep- 
tiles. If  he  were,  he  would  hardly  speak  so  disrespectfully  o<f 
these  batrachians. 


BIRD-SONGS.  35 

sing  for  joy ;  and  their  joy,  of  course,  has  vari- 
ous causes. 

For  one  thing,  they  are  very  sensitive  to  the 
weather.  With  them,  as  with  us,  sunlight  and 
a  genial  warmth  go  to  produce  serenity.  A 
bright  summer-like  day,  late  in  October,  or  even 
in  November,  will  set  the  smaller  birds  to  sing- 
ing, and  the  grouse  to  drumming.  I  heard  a 
robin  venturing  a  little  song  on  the  25th  of  last 
December ;  but  that,  for  aught  I  know,  was  a 
Christmas  carol.  No  matter  what  the  season, 
you  will  not  hear  a  great  deal  of  bird  music  dur- 
ing a  high  wind  ;  and  if  you  are  caught  in  the 
woods  by  a  sudden  shower  in  May  or  June,  and 
are  not  too  much  taken  up  with  thoughts  of 
your  own  condition,  you  will  hardly  fail  to  no- 
tice the  instant  silence  which  falls  upon  the 
woods  with  the  rain.  Birds,  however,  are  more 
or  less  inconsistent  (that  is  a  part  of  their  like- 
ness to  us),  and  sometimes  sing  most  freely 
when  the  sky  is  overcast. 

But  their  highest  joys  are  by  no  means  de- 
pendent upon  the  moods  of  the  weather.  A 
comfortable  state  of  mind  is  not  to  be  contemned, 
but  beings  who  are  capable  of  deep  and  passion- 
ate affection  recognize  a  difference  between  com- 
fort and  ecstasy.  And  the  peculiar  glory  of 
birds  is  just  here,  in  the  all-consuming  fervor 
of  their  love.  It  would  be  commonplace  to  call 


36  BIRD-SONGS. 

them  models  of  conjugal  and  parental  faithful- 
ness. With  a  few  exceptions  (and  these,  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  add,  not  singers),  the  very  least  of 
them  is  literally  faithful  unto  death.  Here  and 
there,  in  the  notes  of  some  collector,  we  are  told 
of  a  difficulty  he  has  had  in  securing  a  coveted 
specimen  :  the  tiny  creature,  whose  mate  had 
been  already  "collected,"  would  persist  in  hov- 
ering so  closely  about  the  invader's  head  that  it 
was  impossible  to  shoot  him  without  spoiling 
him.  for  the  cabinet  by  blowing  him  to  pieces ! 

Need  there  be  any  mystery  about  the  singing 
of  such  a  lover?  Is  it  surprising  if  at  times 
he  is  so  enraptured  that  he  can  no  longer  sit 
tamely  on  the  branch,  but  must  dart  into  the 
air,  and  go  circling  round  and  round,  caroling 
as  he  flies  ? 

So  far  as  song  is  the  voice  of  emotion,  it  will 
of  necessity  vary  with  the  emotion  ;  and  every 
one  who  has  ears  must  have  heard  once  in  a 
while  bird  music  of  quite  unusual  fervor.  For 
example,  I  have  often  seen  the  least  flycatcher 
(a  very  unroman tic-looking  body,  surely)  when 
he  was  almost  beside  himself  ;  flying  in  a  circle, 
and  repeating  breathlessly  his  emphatic  chebec. 
And  once  I  found  a  wood  pewee  in  a  somewhat 
similar  mood.  He  was  more  quiet  than  the 
least  flycatcher ;  but  he  too  sang  on  the  wing, 
and  I  have  never  heard  notes  which  seemed 


BIRD-SONGS.  37 

more  expressive  of  happiness.  Many  of  them 
were  entirely  new  and  strange,  although  the 
familiar  pewee  was  introduced  among  the  rest. 
As  I  listened,  I  felfc  it  to  be  an  occasion  for 
thankfulness  that  the  delighted  creature  had 
never  studied  anatomy,  and  did  not  know  that 
the  structure  of  his  throat  made  it  improper  for 
him  to  sing.  In  this  connection,  also,  I  recall 
a  cardinal  grosbeak,  whom  I  heard  several 
years  ago,  on  the  bank  of  the  Potomac  River. 
An  old  soldier  had  taken  me  to  visit  the  Great 
Falls,  and  as  we  were  clambering  over  the  rocks 
this  grosbeak  began  to  sing ;  arid  soon,  without 
any  hint  from  me,  and  without  knowing  who 
the  invisible  musician  was,  my  companion  re- 
marked upon  the  uncommon  beauty  of  the  song. 
The  cardinal  is  always  a  great  singer,  having  a 
voice  which,  as  European  writers  say,  is  almost 
equal  to  the  nightingale's ;  but  in  this  case  the 
more  stirring,  martial  quality  of  the  strain  had 
given  place  to  an  exquisite  mellowness,  as  if  it 
were,  what  I  have  no  doubt  it  was,  a  song  of 
love. 

Every  kind  of  bird  has  notes  of  its  own,  so  that 
a  thoroughly  practiced  ear  would  be  able  to  dis- 
criminate the  different  species  with  nearly  as 
much  certainty  as  Professor  Baird  would  feel 
after  an  examination  of  the  anatomy  and  plum- 
age. Still  this  strong  specific  resemblance  is 


38  BIRD-SONGS. 

far  from  being  a  dead  uniformity.  Aside  from 
the  fact,  already  mentioned,  that  the  character- 
istic strain  is  sometimes  given  with  extraordi- 
nary sweetness  and  emphasis,  there  are  often  to 
be  detected  variations  of  a  more  formal  charac- 
ter. This  is  noticeably  true  of  robins.  It  may 
almost  be  said  that  no  two  of  them  sing  alike ; 
while  now  and  then  their  vagaries  are  conspic- 
uous enough  to  attract  general  attention.  One 
who  was  my  neighbor  last  year  interjected  into 
his  song  a  series  of  four  or  five  most  exact  imi- 
tations of  the  peep  of  a  chicken.  When  I  first 
heard  this  performance,  I  was  in  company  with 
two  friends,  both  of  whom  noticed  and  laughed 
at  it ;  and  some  days  afterwards  I  visited  the 
spot  again,  and  found  the  bird  still  rehearsing 
the  same  ridiculous  medley.  I  conjectured  that 
he  had  been  brought  up  near  a  hen-coop,  and, 
moreover,  had  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  lose 
his  father  before  his  notes  had  become  thor- 
oughly fixed  ;  and  then,  being  compelled  to 
finish  his  musical  education  by  himself,  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  practice  these  chicken  calls. 
This  guess  may  not  have  been  correct.  All  I 
can  affirm  is  that  he  sang  exactly  as  he  might 
have  been  expected  to  do,  on  that  supposition  ; 
but  certainly  the  resemblance  seemed  too  close 
to  be  accidental. 

The  variations  of  the  wood  thrush  are  fully 


BIRD-SONGS.  89 

as  striking  as  those  of  the  robin,  and  sometimes 
it  is  impossible  not  to  feel  that  the  artist  is 
making  a  deliberate  effort  to  do  something  out 
of  the  ordinary  course,  something  better  than 
he  has  ever  done  before.  Now  and  then  he 
prefaces  his  proper  song  with  many  discon- 
nected, extremely  staccato  notes,  following  each 
other  at  very  distant  and  unexpected  intervals 
of  pitch.  It  is  this,  I  conclude,  which  is  meant 
by  some  writer  (who  it  is  I  cannot  now  remem- 
ber) when  he  criticises  the  wood  thrush  for 
spending  too  much  time  in  tuning  his  instru- 
ment. But  the  fault  is  the  critic's,  I  think  ;  to 
my  ear  these  preliminaries  sound  rather  like 
the  recitative  which  goes  before  the  grand  aria. 

Still  another  musician  who  delights  to  take 
liberties  with  his  score  is  the  towhee  bunting, 
or  chewink.  Indeed,  he  carries  the  matter  so 
far  that  sometimes  it  seems  almost  as  if  he 
suspected  the  proximity  of  some  self-conceited 
ornithologist,  and  were  determined,  if  possible, 
to  make  a  fool  of  him.  And  for  my  part,  being 
neither  self-conceited  nor  an  ornithologist,  I  am 
willing  to  confess  that  I  have  once  or  twice 
been  so  badly  deceived  that  now  the  mere  sight 
of  this  Pipilo  is,  so  to  speak,  a  means  of  grace 
to  me. 

One  more  of  these  innovators  (these  heretics, 
as  they  are  most  likely  called  by  their  more 


40  BIRD-SONGS. 

conservative  brethren)  is  the  field  sparrow,  bet- 
ter known  as  Spizella  pusilla.  His  usual  song 
consists  of  a  simple  line  of  notes,  beginning  lei- 
surely, but  growing  shorter  and  more  rapid  to 
the  close.  The  voice  is  so  smooth  and  sweet, 
and  the  acceleration  so  well  managed,  that,  al- 
though the  whole  is  commonly  a  strict  mono- 
tone, the  effect  is  not  in  the  least  monotonous. 
This  song  I  once  heard  rendered  in  reverse  or- 
der, with  a  result  so  strange  that  I  did  not  sus- 
pect the  identity  of  the  author  till  I  had  crept 
up  within  sight  of  him.  Another  of  these  spar- 
rows, who  has  passed  the  last  two  seasons  in 
my  neighborhood,  habitually  doubles  the  meas- 
ure ;  going  through  it  in  the  usual  way,  and 
then,  just  as  you  expect  him  to  conclude,  catch- 
ing it  up  again,  Da  capo. 

But  birds  like  these  are  quite  outdone  by 
such  species  as  the  song  sparrow,  the  white- 
eyed  vireo,  and  the  Western  meadow-lark, — 
species  of  which  we  may  say  that  each  individ- 
ual bird  has  a  whole  repertory  of  songs  at  his 
command.  The  song  sparrow,  who  is  the  best 
known  of  the  three,  will  repeat  one  melody 
perhaps  a  dozen  times,  then  change  it  for  a 
second,  and  in  turn  leave  that  for  a  third ;  as  if 
he  were  singing  hymns  of  twelve  or  fifteen 
stanzas  each,  and  set  each  hymn  to  its  appro- 
priate tune.  It  is  something  well  worth  listen- 


BIRD-SONGS.  41 

ing  to,  common  though  it  is,  and  may  easily 
suggest  a  number  of  questions  about  the  origin 
and  meaning  of  bird  music. 

The  white-eyed  vireo  is  a  singer  of  astonish- 
ing spirit,  and  his  sudden  changes  from  one 
theme  to  another  are  sometimes  almost  start- 
ling. He  is  a  skillful  ventriloquist,  also,  and  I 
remember  one  in  particular  who  outwitted  me 
completely.  He  was  rehearsing  a  well-known 
strain,  but  at  the  end  there  came  up  from  the 
bushes  underneath  a  querulous  call.  At  first  I 
took  it  for  granted  that  some  other  bird  was  in 
the  underbrush ;  but  the  note  was  repeated  too 
many  times,  and  came  in  too  exactly  on  the  beat. 

I  have  no  personal  acquaintance  with  the 
Western  meadow-lark,  but  no  less  than  twenty- 
six  of  his  songs  have  been  printed  in  musical 
notation,  arid  these  are  said  to  be  by  no  means 
all.1 

Others  of  our  birds  have  similar  gifts,  though 
no  others,  so  far  as  I  know,  are  quite  so  versa- 
tile as  these  three.  Several  of  the  warblers, 
for  example,  have  attained  to  more  than  one 
set  song,  notwithstanding  the  deservedly  small 
reputation  of  this  misnamed  family.  I  have 
myself  heard  the  golden-crowned  thrush,  the 
black-throated  green  warbler,  the  black-throated 

i  Mr.  C.  N.  Allen,  in  Bulletin  of  the  Nuttall  Ornithological 
Club,  July,  1881. 


42  BIRD-SONGS. 

blue,  the  yellow-r limped,  and  the  chestnut-sided, 
sing  two  melodies  each,  while  the  blue  golden- 
winged  has  at  least  three  ;  and  this,  of  course, 
without  making  anything  of  slight  variations 
such  as  all  birds  are  more  or  less  accustomed  to 
indulge  in.  The  best  of  the  three  songs  of  the 
blue  golden-wing  I  have  never  heard  except  on 
one  occasion,  but  then  it  was  repeated  for  half 
an  hour  under  my  very  eyes.  It  bore  no  re- 
semblance to  the  common  dsee,  dsee,  dsee,  of 
the  species,  and  would  appear  to  be  seldom 
used  ;  for  not  only  have  I  never  heard  it  since, 
but  none  of  the  writers  seem  ever  to  have 
heard  it  at  all.  However,  I  still  keep  a  careful 
description  of  it,  which  I  took  down  on  the 
spot,  and  which  I  expect  some  future  golden- 
wing  to  verify. 

But  the  most  celebrated  of  the  warblers  in 
this  regard  is  the  golden-crowned  thrush,  other- 
wise called  the  oven-bird  and  the  wood  wagtail. 
His  ordinary  effort  is  one  of  the  noisiest,  least 
melodious,  and  most  incessant  sounds  to  be 
heard  in  our  woods.  His  song  is  another  mat- 
ter. For  that  he  takes  to  the  air  (usually  start- 
ing from  a  tree-top,  although  I  have  seen  him 
rise  from  the  ground),  whence,  after  a  prelim- 
inary chip,  chip,  he  lets  falls  a  hurried  flood  of 
notes,  in  the  midst  of  which  can  usually  be  dis- 
tinguished his  familiar  weechee,  weechee,  wee- 


BIRD-SONGS.  43 

chee.  It  is  nothing  wonderful  that  he  should 
sing  on  the  wing,  —  many  other  birds  do  the 
same,  and  very  much  better  than  he  ;  but  he  is 
singular  in  that  he  strictly  reserves  his  aerial 
music  for  late  in  the  afternoon.  I  have  heard 
it  as  early  as  three  o'clock,  but  never  before 
that,  and  it  is  most  common  about  sunset. 
Writers  speak  of  it  as  limited  to  the  season  of 
courtship ;  but  I  have  heard  it  almost  daily  till 
near  the  end  of  July,  and  once,  for  my  special 
benefit,  perhaps,  it  was  given  in  full  —  and  re- 
peated—  on  the  first  day  of  September.  But 
who  taught  the  little  creature  to  do  this,  —  to 
sing  one  song  in  the  forenoon,  perched  upon  a 
twig,  and  to  keep  another  for  afternoon,  sing- 
ing that  invariably  on  the  wing  ?  and  what  dif- 
ference is  there  between  the  two  in  the  mind 
of  the  singer  ?  l 

It  is  an  indiscretion  ever  to  say  of  a  bird 
that  he  has  only  such  and  such  notes.  You 
may  have  been  his  friend  for  years,  but  the 
next  time  you  go  into  the  woods  he  will  likely 
enough  put  you  to  shame  by  singing  something 
not  so  much  as  hinted  at  in  your  description. 
I  thought  I  knew  the  song  of  the  yellow-rumped 
warbler,  having  listened  to  it  many  times,  —  a 

1  Since  this  paper  was  written  I  have  three  times  heard  the  wood 
wagtail's  true  song  in  the  morning,  —  but  in  neither  case  was  the 
bird  in  the  air.  See  p,  284. 


44  BIRD-SONGS. 

slight  and  rather  characterless  thing,  nowise 
remarkable.  But  coming  down  Mount  Willard 
one  day  in  June,  I  heard  a  warbler's  song  which 
brought  me  to  a  sudden  halt.  It  was  new  and 
beautiful,  —  more  beautiful,  it  seemed  at  the 
moment,  than  any  warbler's  song  I  had  ever 
heard.  What  could  it  be  ?  A  little  patient 
waiting  (while  the  black-flies  and  mosquitoes 
"  came  upon  me  to  eat  up  my  flesh"),  and  the 
wonderful  stranger  appeared  in  full  view,  —  my 
old  acquaintance,  the  yellow-rumped  warbler. 

With  all  this  strong  tendency  on  the  part  of 
birds  to  vary  their  music,  how  is  it  that  there 
is  still  such  a  degree  of  uniformity,  so  that,  as 
we  have  said,  every  species  may  be  recognized 
by  its  notes  ?  Why  does  every  red-eyed  vireo 
sing  in  one  way,  and  every  white-eyed  vireo  in 
another  ?  Who  teaches  the  young  chipper  to 
trill,  and  the  young  linnet  to  warble  ?  In  short, 
how  do  birds  come  by  their  music  ?  Is  it  all  a 
matter  of  instinct,  inherited  habit,  or  do  they 
learn  it  ?  The  answer  appears  to  be  that  birds 
sing  as  children  talk,  by  simple  imitation.  No- 
body imagines  that  the  infant  is  born  with  a 
language  printed  upon  his  brain.  The  father 
and  mother  may  never  have  known  a  word  of 
any  tongue  except  the  English,  but  if  the  child 
is  brought  up  to  hear  only  Chinese,  he  will 
infallibly  speak  that,  and  nothing  else.  And 


BIRD-SONGS.  45 

careful  experiments  have  shown  the  same  to  be 
true  of  birds.1  Taken  from  the  nest  just  after 
they  leave  the  shell,  they  invariably  sing,  not 
their  own  so-called  natural  song,  but  the  song 
of  their  foster-parents;  provided,  of  course, 
that  this  is  not  anything  beyond  their  physi- 
cal capacity.  The  notorious  house  sparrow  (our 
"  English  "  sparrow),  in  his  wild  or  semi-domes- 
ticated state,  never  makes  a  musical  sound ;  but 
if  he  is  taken  in  hand  early  enough,  he  may  be 
taught  to  sing,  so  it  is  said,  nearly  as  well  as 
the  canary.  Bechstein  relates  that  a  Paris 
clergyman  had  two  of  these  sparrows  whom  he 
had  trained  to  speak,  and,  among  other  things, 
to  recite  several  of  the  shorter  commandments ; 
and  the  narrative  goes  on  to  say  that  it  was 
sometimes  very  comical,  when  the  pair  were 
disputing  over  their  food,  to  hear  one  gravely 
admonish  the  other,  "  Thou  shalt  not  steal !  " 
It  would  be  interesting  to  know  why  creatures 
thus  gifted  do  not  sing  of  their  own  motion. 
With  their  amiability  and  sweet  peaceable- 
ness  they  ought  to  be  caroling  the  whole  year 
round. 

This  question   of  the  transmission  of  songs 
from  one  generation  to  another  is,  of  course,  a 

1  See  the  paper  of  Daines  Barrington  in  Philosophical  Transac- 
tions for  1773;  also,  Darwin's  Descent  of  Man,  and  Wallace's 
Natural  Selection. 


46  BIRD-SONGS. 

part  of  the  general  subject  of  animal  intelli- 
gence, a  subject  much  discussed  in  these  days 
on  account  of  its  bearing  upon  the  modern  doc- 
trine concerning  the  relation  of  man  to  the  in- 
ferior orders. 

We  have  nothing  to  do  with  such  a  theme, 
but  it  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  suggest  to 
preachers  and  moralists  that  here  is  a  striking 
and  unhackneyed  illustration  of  the  force  of 
early  training.  Birds  sing  by  imitation,  it  is 
true,  but  as  a  rule  they  imitate  only  the  notes 
which  they  hear  during  the  first  few  weeks 
after  they  are  hatched.  One  of  Mr.  Barring- 
ton's  linnets,  for  example,  after  being  educated 
under  a  titlark,  was  put  into  a  room  with  two 
birds  of  his  own  species,  where  he  heard  them 
sing  freely  every  day  for  three  months.  He 
made  no  attempt  to  learn  anything  from  them, 
however,  but  kept  on  practicing  what  the  tit- 
lark had  taught  him,  quite  unconscious  of  any- 
thing singular  or  unpatriotic  in  such  a  course. 
This  law,  that  impressions  received  during  the 
immaturity  of  the  powers  become  the  unalter- 
able habit  of  the  after  life,  is  perhaps  the  most 
momentous  of  all  the  laws  in  whose  power  we 
find  ourselves.  Sometimes  we  are  tempted  to 
call  it  cruel.  But  if  it  were  annulled,  this 
would  be  a  strange  world.  What  a  hurly- 
hurly  we  should  have  among  the  birds  !  There 


BIRD-SONGS.  47 

would  be  no  more  telling  them  by  their  notes. 
Thrushes  and  jays,  wrens  and  chickadees, 
finches  and  warblers,  all  would  be  singing  one 
grand  medley. 

Between  these  two  opposing  tendencies,  one 
urging  to  variation,  the  other  to  permanence 
(for  Nature  herself  is  half  radical,  half  con- 
servative), the  language  of  birds  has  grown 
from  rude  beginnings  to  its  present  beautiful 
diversity ;  and  whoever  lives  a  century  of  mil- 
lenniums hence  will  listen  to  music  such  as  we 
in  this  day  can  only  dream  of.  Inappreciably 
but  ceaselessly  the  work  goes  on.  Here  and 
there  is  born  a  master-singer,  a  feathered  gen- 
ius, and  every  generation  makes  its  own  addi- 
tion to  the  glorious  inheritance. 

It  may  be  doubted  whether  there  is  any  real 
connection  between  moral  character  and  the 
possession  of  wings.  Nevertheless  there  has 
long  been  a  popular  feeling  that  some  such  con- 
gruity  does  exist ;  and  certainly  it  seems  unrea- 
sonable to  suppose  that  creatures  who  are  able 
to  soar  at  will  into  the  heavens  should  be  with- 
out other  equally  angelic  attributes.  But,  be 
that  as  it  may,  our  friends,  the  birds,  do  un- 
deniably set  us  a  good  example  in  several  re- 
spects. To  mention  only  one,  how  becoming  is 
their  observance  of  morning  and  evening  song  ! 
In  spite  of  their  industrious  spirit  (and  few  of 


48  BIRD-SONGS. 

us  labor  more  hours  daily),  neither  their  first 
nor  their  last  thoughts  are  given  to  the  ques- 
tion, What  shall  we  eat,  and  what  shall  we 
drink?  Possibly  their  habit  of  saluting  the 
rising  and  setting  sun  may  be  thought  to  favor 
the  theory  that  the  worship  of  the  god  of  day 
was  the  original  religion.  I  know  nothing 
about  that.  But  it  would  be  a  sad  change  if 
the  birds,  declining  from  their  present  beauti- 
ful custom,  were  to  sleep  and  work,  work  and 
sleep,  with  no  holy  hour  between,  as  is  too 
much  the  case  with  the  being  who,  according 
to  his  own  pharisaic  notion,  is  the  only  religious 
animal. 

In  the  season,  however,  the  woods  are  by  no 
means  silent,  even  at  noonday.  Many  species 
(such  as  the  vireos  and  warblers,  who  get  their 
living  amid  the  foliage  of  trees)  sing  as  they 
work  ;  while  the  thrushes  and  others,  who  keep 
business  and  pleasure  more  distinct,  are  often 
too  happy  to  go  many  hours  together  without  a 
hymn.  I  have  even  seen  robins  singing  without 
quitting  the  turf  ;  but  that  is  rather  unusual,  for 
somehow  birds  have  come  to  feel  that  they  must 
get  away  from  the  ground  when  the  lyrical  mood 
is  upon  them.  This  may  be  a  thing  of  sentiment 
(for  is  not  language  full  of  uncomplimentary 
allusions  to  earth  and  earthliness  ?),  but  more 
likely  it  is  prudential.  The  gift  of  song  is  no 


BIRD-SONGS.  49 

doubt  a  dangerous  blessing  to  creatures  who 
have  so  many  enemies,  and  we  can  readily  be- 
lieve that  they  have  found  it  safer  to  be  up 
where  they  can  look  about  them  while  thus 
publishing  their  whereabouts. 

A  very  interesting  exception  to  this  rule  is 
the  savanna  sparrow,  who  sings  habitually  from 
the  ground.  But  even  he  shares  the  common 
feeling,  and  stretches  himself  to  his  full  height 
with  an  earnestness  which  is  almost  laugh- 
able, in  view  of  the  result  ;  for  his  notes  are 
hardly  louder  than  a  cricket's  chirp.  Probably 
he  has  fallen  into  this  lowly  habit  from  living 
in  meadows  and  salt  marshes,  where  bushes 
and  trees  are  not  readily  to  be  come  at ;  and 
it  is  worth  noticing  that,  in  the  case  of  the 
skylark  and  the  white-winged  blackbird,  the 
same  conditions  have  led  to  a  result  precisely 
opposite.  The  sparrow,  we  may  presume,  was 
originally  of  a  humble  disposition,  and  when 
nothing  better  offered  itself  for  a  singing-perch 
easily  grew  accustomed  to  standing  upon  a 
stone  or  a  little  lump  of  earth ;  and  this  prac- 
tice, long  persisted  in,  naturally  had  the  effect 
to  lessen  the  loudness  of  his  voice.  The  sky- 
lark, on  the  other  hand,  when  he  did  not  read- 
ily find  a  tree-top,  said  to  himself,  "  Never 
mind !  I  have  a  pair  of  wings."  And  so  the 
lark  is  famous,  while  the  sparrow  remains  un- 

4 


50  BIRD-SONGS. 

heard-of,  and  is  even  mistaken  for  a  grasshop* 
per. 

How  true  it  is  that  the  very  things  which 
dishearten  one  nature  and  break  it  down,  only 
help  another  to  find  out  what  it  was  made  for ! 
If  you  would  foretell  the  development,  either 
of  a  bird  or  of  a  man,  it  is  not  enough  to  know 
his  environment,  you  must  know  also  what 
there  is  in  him. 

We  have  possibly  made  too  much  of  the  sa- 
vanna sparrow's  innocent  eccentricity.  He  fills 
his  place,  and  fills  it  well ;  and  who  knows  but 
that  he  may  yet  outshine  the  skylark  ?  There 
is  a  promise,  I  believe,  for  those  who  humble 
themselves.  But  what  shall  be  said  of  species 
which  do  not  even  try  to  sing,  and  that,  not- 
withstanding they  have  all  the  structural  pecul- 
iarities of  singing  birds,  and  must,  almost  cer- 
tainly, have  come  from  ancestors  who  were 
singers?  We  have  already  mentioned  the 
house  sparrow,  whose  defect  is  the  more  mys- 
terious on  account  of  his  belonging  to  so  highly 
musical  a  family.  But  Tie  was  never  accused  of 
not  being  noisy  enough,  while  we  have  one 
bird  who,  though  be  is  classed  with  the  oscines, 
passes  his  life  in  almost  unbroken  silence.  Of 
course  I  refer  to  the  waxwing,  or  cedar-bird, 
whose  faint,  sibilant  whisper  can  scarcely  be 
thought  to  contradict  the  foregoing  description. 


BIRD-SONGS.  51 

By  what  strange  freak  lie  has  lapsed  into  this 
ghostly  habit,  nobody  knows.  I  make  no  ac- 
count of  the  insinuation  that  he  gave  up  music 
because  it  hindered  his  success  in  cherry-steal- 
ing. He  likes  cherries,  it  is  true ;  and  who  can 
blame  him  ?  But  he  would  need  to  work  hard 
to  steal  more  than  does  that  indefatigable  song- 
ster, the  robin.  I  feel  sure  he  has  some  better 
reason  than  this  for  his  Quakerish  conduct. 
But,  however  he  came  by  his  stillness,  it  is 
likely  that  by  this  time  he  plumes  himself  upon 
it.  Silence  is  golden,  he  thinks,  the  supreme 
result  of  the  highest  aesthetic  culture.  Those 
loud  creatures,  the  thrushes  and  finches  !  What 
a  vulgar  set  they  are,  to  be  sure,  the  more  'a 
the  pity  !  Certainly  if  he  does  not  reason  in 
some  such  way,  bird  nature  is  not  so  human  as 
we  have  given  it  credit  for  being.  Besides, 
the  waxwing  has  an  uncommon  appreciation 
of  the  decorous ;  at  least,  we  must  think  so 
if  we  are  able  to  credit  a  story  of  Nuttall'a. 
He  declares  that  a  Boston  gentleman,  whose 
name  he  gives,  saw  one  of  a  company  of  these 
birds  capture  an  insect,  and  offer  it  to  his  neigh- 
bor ;  he,  however,  delicately  declined  the  dainty 
bit,  and  it  was  offered  to  the  next,  who,  in 
turn,  was  equally  polite  ;  and  the  morsel  actu- 
ally passed  back  and  forth  along  the  line,  till, 
finally,  one  of  the  flock  was  persuaded  to  eat  it. 


52  BIRD-SONGS. 

I  have  never  seen  anything  equal  to  this  ;  but 
one  day,  happening  to  stop  under  a  low  cedar, 
I  discovered  right  over  my  bead  a  waxwing's 
nest  with  the  mother-bird  sitting  upon  it,  while 
her  mate  was  perched  beside  her  on  the  branch. 
He  was  barely  out  of  my  reach,  but  he  did  not 
move  a  muscle  ;  and  although  he  uttered  no 
sound,  his  behavior  said  as  plainly  as  possible, 
"What  do  you  expect  to  do  here?  Don't  you 
see  Jam  standing  guard  over  this  nest?"  I 
should  be  ashamed  not  to  be  able  to  add  that  I 
respected  his  dignity  and  courage,  and  left  him 
and  his  castle  unmolested. 

Observations  so  discursive  as  these  can  hardly 
be  finished  ;  they  must  break  off  abruptly,  or 
else  go  on  forever.  Let  us  make  an  end,  there- 
fore, with  expressing  our  hope  that  the  cedar- 
bird,  already  so  handsome  and  chivalrous,  will 
yet  take  to  himself  a  song  ;  one  sweet  and  orig- 
inal, worthy  to  go  with  his  soft  satin  coat,  his 
ornaments  of  sealing-wax,  and  his  magnificent 
top-knot.  Let  him  do  that,  and  he  shall  al- 
ways be  made  welcome ;  yes,  even  though  he 
come  in  force  and  in  cherry-time. 


CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS. 


THE  finger  of  God  hath  left  an  inscription  upon  all  his  works, 
not  graphical  or  composed  of  letters,  but  of  their  several  forms, 
constitutions,  parts,  and  operations,  which,  aptly  joined  together, 
do  make  one  word  that  doth  express  their  natures.  By  these  let- 
ters God  calls  the  stars  by  their  names ;  and  by  this  alphabet 
Adam  assigned  to  every  creature  a  name  peculiar  to  its  nature. 

SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE. 


CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS. 


IN  this  economically  governed  world  the  same 
thing  serves  many  uses.  Who  will  take  upon 
himself  to  enumerate  the  offices  of  sunlight,  or 
water,  or  indeed  of  any  object  whatever  ?  Be- 
cause we  know  it  to  be  good  for  this  or  that,  it 
by  no  means  follows  that  we  have  discovered 
what  it  was  made  for.  What  we  have  found 
out  is  perhaps  only  something  by  the  way  ;  as 
if  a  man  should  think  the  sun  were  created  for 
his  own  private  convenience.  In  some  moods 
it  seems  doubtful  whether  we  are  yet  acquainted 
with  the  real  value  of  anything.  But,  be  that 
as  it  may,  we  need  not  scruple  to  admire  so 
much  as  our  ignorance  permits  us  to  see  of  the 
workings  of  this  divine  frugality.  The  piece  of 
woodland,  for  instance,  which  skirts  the  village, 
—  how  various  are  its  ministries  to  the  inhab- 
itants, each  of  whom,  without  forethought  or 
question,  takes  the  benefit  proper  to  himself ! 
The  poet  saunters  there  as  in  a  true  Holy  Land, 
to  have  his  heart  cooled  and  stilled.  Mr.  A. 


56  CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS. 

and  Mr.  B.,  who  hold  the  deeds  of  the  "  prop- 
erty," walk  through  it  to  look  at  the  timber, 
with  an  eye  to  dollars  and  cents.  The  botanist 
has  his  errand  there,  the  zoologist  his,  and  the 
child  his.  Oftenest  of  all,  perhaps  (for  barba- 
rism dies  hard,  and  even  yet  the  ministers  of 
Christ  find  it  a  capital  sport  to  murder  small 
fishes), — oftenest  of  all  comes  the  man,  poor 
soul,  who  thinks  of  the  forest  as  of  a  place  to 
which  he  may  go  when  he  wishes  to  amuse  him- 
self by  killing  something.  Meanwhile,  the  rab- 
bits and  the  squirrels,  the  hawks  and  the  owls, 
look  upon  all  such  persons  as  no  better  than  in- 
truders (do  not  the  woods  belong  to  those  who 
live  in  them  ?)  ;  while  nobody  remembers  the 
meteorologist,  who  nevertheless  smiles  in  his 
sleeve  at  all  these  one-sided  notions,  and  says  to 
himself  that  he  knows  the  truth  of  the  matter. 

So  is  it  with  everything;  and  with  all  the 
rest,  so  is  it  with  the  birds.  The  interest  they 
excite  is  of  all  grades,  from  that  which  looks 
upon  them  as  items  of  millinery,  up  to  that  of 
the  makers  of  ornithological  systems,  who  ran- 
sack the  world  for  specimens,  and  who  have  no 
doubt  that  the  chief  end  of  a  bird  is  to  be  named 
and  catalogued,  —  the  more  synonyms  the  bet- 
ter. Somewhere  between  these  two  extremes 
comes  the  person  whose  interest  in  birds  is 
friendly  rather  than  scientific ;  who  has  little 


CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS.        57 

taste  for  shooting,  and  an  aversion  from  dissect- 
ing; who  delights  in  the  living  creatures  them- 
selves, and  counts  a  bird  in  the  bush  worth  two 
in  the  hand.  Such  a  person,  if  he  is  intelligent, 
makes  good  use  of  the  best  works  on  ornithol- 
ogy ;  he  would  not  know  how  to  get  along  with- 
out them ;  but  he  studies  most  the  birds  them- 
selves, and  after  a  while  he  begins  to  associate 
them  on  a  plan  of  his  own.  Not  that  he  dis- 
trusts the  approximate  correctness  of  the  re- 
ceived classification,  or  ceases  to  find  it  of  daily 
service ;  but  though  it  were  as  accurate  as  the 
multiplication  table,  it  is  based  (and  rightly,  no 
doubt)  on  anatomical  structure  alone ;  it  rates 
birds  as  bodies,  and  nothing  else  :  while  to  the 
person  of  whom  we  are  speaking  birds  are,  first 
of  all,  souls ;  his  interest  in  them  is,  as  we  say, 
personal ;  and  we  are  none  of  us  in  the  habit  of 
grouping  our  friends  according  to  height,  or 
complexion,  or  any  other  physical  peculiarity. 

But  it  is  not  proposed  in  this  paper  to  attempt 
a  new  classification  of  any  sort,  even  the  most 
unscientific  and  fanciful.  All  I  am  to  do  is  to 
set  down  at  random  a  few  studies  in  such  a 
method  as  I  have  indicated  ;  in  short,  a  few 
studies  in  the  temperaments  of  birds.  Nor,  in 
making  this  attempt,  am  I  unmindful  how  elu- 
sive of  analysis  traits  of  character  are,  and  how 
diverse  is  the  impression  which  the  same  per- 


58  CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS. 

sonality  produces  upon  different  observers.  In 
matters  of  this  kind  every  judgment  is  largely 
a  question  of  emphasis  and  proportion ;  and, 
moreover,  what  we  find  in  our  friends  depends 
in  great  part  on  what  we  have  in  ourselves. 
This  I  do  not  forget ;  and  therefore  I  foresee 
that  others  will  discover  in  the  birds  of  whom  I 
write  many  things  that  I  miss,  and  perhaps  will 
miss  some  things  which  I  have  treated  as  patent 
or  even  conspicuous.  It  remains  only  for  each 
to  testify  what  he  has  seen,  and  at  the  end  to 
confess  that  a  soul,  even  the  soul  of  a  bird,  is 
after  all  a  mystery. 

Let  our  first  example,  then,  be  the  common 
black-capped  titmouse,  or  chickadee.  He  is,  par 
excellence,  the  bird  of  the  merry  heart.  There 
is  a  notion  current,  to  be  sure,  that  all  birds  are 
merry  ;  but  that  is  one  of  those  second-hand 
opinions  which  a  man  who  begins  to  observe  for 
himself  soon  finds  it  necessary  to  give  up. 
With  many  birds  life  is  a  hard  struggle.  Ene- 
mies are  numerous,  and  the  food  supply  is  too 
often  scanty.  Of  some  species  it  is  probable 
that  very  few  die  in  their  beds.  But  the  chick- 
adee seems  to  be  exempt  from  all  forebodings. 
His  coat  is  thick,  his  heart  is  brave,  anil,  what- 
ever may  happen,  something  will  be  found  to 
eat.  "  Take  no  thought  for  the  morrow  "  is  his 
creed,  which  he  accepts,  not  "  for  substance  of 


CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS.  59 

doctrine,"  but  literally.  No  matter  how  bitter 
the  wind  or  how  deep  the  snow,  you  will  never 
find  the  chickadee,  as  the  saying  is,  under  the 
weather.  It  is  this  perennial  good  humor,  I  sup- 
pose, which  makes  other  birds  so  fond  of  his 
companionship  ;  and  their  example  might  well 
be  heeded  by  persons  who  suffer  from  fits  of  de- 
pression. Such  unfortunates  could  hardly  do 
better  than  to  court  the  society  of  the  joyous  tit. 
His  whistles  and  chirps,  his  graceful  feats  of 
climbing  and  hanging,  and  withal  his  engaging 
familiarity  (for,  of  course,  such  good-nature  as 
his  could  not  consist  with  suspiciousness)  would 
most  likely  send  them  home  in  a  more  Christian 
mood.  The  time  will  come,  we  may  hope, 
when  doctors  will  prescribe  bird-gazing  instead 
of  blue-pill. 

To  illustrate  the  chickadee's  trustfulness,  I 
may  mention  that  a  friend  of  mine  captured  one 
in  a  butterfly-net,  and,  carrying  him  into  the 
house,  let  him  loose  in  the  sitting-room.  The 
little  stranger  was  at  home  immediately,  and 
seeing  the  window  full  of  plants,  proceeded  to 
go  over  them  carefully,  picking  off  the  lice  with 
which  such  window-gardens  are  always  more  or 
less  infested.  A  little  later  he  was  taken  into 
my  friend's  lap,  and  soon  he  climbed  up  to  his 
shoulder ;  where,  after  hopping  about  for  a  few 
minutes  on  his  coat-collar,  he  selected  a  com- 


60  CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS. 

fortable  roosting  place,  tucked  his  head  under 
his  wing,  and  went  to  sleep,  and  slept  on  un- 
disturbed while  carried  from  one  room  to  an- 
other. Probably  the  chickadee's  nature  is  not 
of  the  deepest.  I  have  never  seen  him  when 
his  joy  rose  to  ecstasy.  Still  his  feelings  are  not 
shallow,  and  the  faithfulness  of  the  pair  to  each 
other  and  to  their  offspring  is  of  the  highest 
order.  The  female  has  sometimes  to  be  taken 
off  the  nest,  and  even  to  be  held  in  the  hand, 
before  the  eggs  can  be  examined. 

Our  American  goldfinch  is  one  of  the  loveliest 
of  birds.  With  his  elegant  plumage,  his  rhyth- 
mical, undulatory  flight,  his  beautiful  song,  and 
his  more  beautiful  soul,  he  ought  to  be  one  of 
the  best  beloved,  if  not  one  of  the  most  famous  ; 
but  he  has  never  yet  had  half  his  deserts.  He 
is  like  the  chickadee,  and  yet  different.  He  is 
not  so  extremely  confiding,  nor  should  I  call  him 
merry.  But  he  is  always  cheerful,  in  spite  of 
his  so-called  plaintive  note,  from  which  he  gets 
one  of  his  names,  and  always  amiable.  So  far 
as  I  know,  he  never  utters  a  harsh  sound ;  even 
the  young  ones,  asking  for  food,  use  only  smooth, 
musical  tones.  During  the  pairing  season  his 
delight  often  becomes  rapturous.  To  see  him 
then,  hovering  and  singing,  — or,  better  still,  to 
see  the  devoted  pair  hovering  together,  billing 
and  singing,  —  is  enough  to  do  even  a  cynic  good. 


CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS.        61 

The  happy  lovers  !    They  have  never  read  it  in 
a  book,  but  it  is  written  on  their  hearts,  — 

"  The  gentle  law,  that  each  should  be 
The  other's  heaven  and  harmony." 

The  goldfinch  has  the  advantage  of  the  titmouse 
in  several  respects,  but  he  lacks  that  spright- 
liness,  that  exceeding  light-heartedness,  which 
is  the  chickadee's  most  endearing  characteristic. 
For  the  sake  of  a  strong  contrast,  we  may 
look  next  at  the  brown  thrush,  known  to  farm- 
ers as  the  planting-bird  and  to  ornithologists 
as  HarporTiynchus  rufus  ;  a  staid  and  solemn 
Puritan,  whose  creed  is  the  Preacher's,  —  "  Van- 
ity of  vanities,  all  is  vanity."  No  frivolity  and 
merry-making  for  him  !  After  his  brief  annual 
period  of  intensely  passionate  song,  he  does  pen- 
ance for  the  remainder  of  the  year,  —  skulking 
about,  on  the  ground  or  near  it,  silent  and 
gloomy.  He  seems  ever  on  the  watch  against 
an  enemy,  and,  unfortunately  for  his  comfort,  he 
has  nothing  of  the  reckless,  bandit  spirit,  such 
as  the  jay  possesses,  which  goes  to  make  a  mod- 
erate degree  of  danger  almost  a  pastime.  Not 
that  he  is  without  courage  ;  when  his  nest  is  in 
question  he  will  take  great  risks  ;  but  in  general 
his  manner  is  dispirited,  "  sicklied  o'er  with  the 
pale  cast  of  thought."  Evidently  he  feels 

"  The  heavy  and  the  weary  weight 
Of  all  this  unintelligible  world; " 


62  CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS. 

and  it  would  not  be  surprising  if  he  sometimes 
raised  the  question,  "  Is  life  worth  living?  "  It 
is  the  worst  feature  of  his  case  that  his  melan- 
choly is  not  of  the  sort  which  softens  and  re- 
fines the  nature.  There  is  no  suggestion  of 
saintliness  about  it.  In  fact,  I  am  convinced 
that  this  long-tailed  thrush  has  a  constitutional 
taint  of  vulgarity.  His  stealthy,  underhand 
manner  is  one  mark  of  this,  and  the  same  thing 
comes  out  again  in  his  music.  Full  of  passion 
as  his  singing  is  (and  we  have  hardly  anything 
to  compare  with  it  in  this  regard),  yet  the  lis- 
tener cannot  help  smiling  now  and  then ;  the 
very  finest  passage  is  followed  so  suddenly  by 
some  uncouth  guttural  note,  or  by  some  whim- 
sical drop  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  the 
scale. 

In  neighborly  association  with  the  brown 
thrush  is  the  towhee  bunting,  or  chewink.  The 
two  choose  the  same  places  for  their  summer 
homes,  and,  unless  I  am  deceived,  they  often 
migrate  in  company.  But  though  they  are  so 
much  together,  and  in  certain  of  their  ways 
very  much  alike,  their  habits  of  mind  are  widely 
dissimilar.  The  towhee  is  of  a  peculiarly  even 
disposition.  I  have  seldom  heard  him  scold,  or 
use  any  note  less  good-natured  and  musical  than 
his  pleasant  cherawink.  I  have  never  detected 
him  in  a  quarrel  such  as  nearly  all  birds  are 


CHARACTER   IN  FEATHERS.  63 

once  in  a  while  guilty  of,  ungracious  as  it  may 
seem  to  mention  the  fact ;  nor  have  I  ever  seen 
him  hopping  nervously  about  and  twitching  his 
tail,  as  is  the  manner  of  most  species,  when,  for 
instance,  their  nests  are  approached.  Nothing 
seems  to  annoy  him.  At  the  same  time,  he  is 
not  full  of  continual  merriment  like  the  chicka- 
dee, nor  occasionally  in  a  rapture  like  the  gold- 
finch. Life  with  him  is  pitched  in  a  low  key  ; 
comfortable  rather  than  cheerful,  and  never 
jubilant.  And  yet,  for  all  the  towhee's  careless 
demeanor,  you  soon  begin  to  suspect  him  of 
being  deep.  He  appears  not  to  mind  you  ;  he 
keeps  on  scratching  among  the  dry  leaves  as  if 
he  had  no  thought  of  being  driven  away  by 
your  presence  ;  but  in  a  minute  or  two  you  look 
that  way  again,  and  he  is  not  there.  If  you 
pass  near  his  nest,  he  makes  not  a  tenth  part  of 
the  ado  which  a  brown  thrush  would  make  in 
the  same  circumstances,  but  (partly  for  this 
reason)  you  will  find  half  a  dozen  nests  of  the 
thrush  sooner  than  one  of  his.  With  all  his 
simplicity  and  frankness,  which  puts  him  in 
happy  contrast  with  the  thrush,  lie  knows  as 
well  as  anybody  how  to  keep  his  own  counsel. 
I  have  seen  him  with  his  mate  for  two  or  three 
days  together  about  the  flower-beds  in  the  Bos- 
ton Public  Garden,  and  so  far  as  appeared  they 
were  feeding  as  unconcernedly  as  though  they 


64        CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS. 

had  been  on  their  own  native  heath,  amid  the 
scrub-oaks  and  huckleberry  bushes ;  but  after 
their  departure  it  was  remembered  that  they 
had  not  once  been  heard  to  utter  a  sound.  If 
self-possession  be  four  fifths  of  good  manners, 
our  red-eyed  Pipilo  may  certainly  pass  for  a 
gentleman. 

We  have  now  named  four  birds,  the  chickadee, 
the  goldfinch,  the  brown  thrush,  and  the  to- 
whee,  —  birds  so  diverse  in  plumage  that  no 
eye  could  fail  to  discriminate  them  at  a  glance. 
But  the  four  differ  no  more  truly  in  bodily  shape 
and  dress  than  they  do  in  that  inscrutable  some- 
thing which  we  call  temperament,  disposition. 
If  the  soul  of  each  were  separated  from  the  body 
and  made  to  stand  out  in  sight,  those  of  us  who 
have  really  known  the  birds  in  the  flesh  would 
have  no  difficulty  in  saying,  This  is  the  titmouse, 
and  this  the  towhee.  It  would  be  with  them  as 
we  hope  it  will  be  with  our  friends  in  the  next 
world,  whom  we  shall  recognize  there  because 
we  knew  them  here  ;  that  is,  we  knew  them, 
and  not  merely  the  bodies  they  lived  in.  This 
kind  of  familiarity  with  birds  has  no  necessary 
connection  with  ornithology.  Personal  inti- 
macy and  a  knowledge  of  anatomy  are  still  two 
different  things.  As  we  have  all  heard,  ours 
is  an  age  of  science ;  but,  thank  fortune,  mat- 
ters have  not  yet  gone  so  far  that  a  man  must 


CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS.  65 

take   a  course  in  anthropology  before  he   can 
love  his  neighbor. 

It  is  a  truth  only  too  patent  that  taste  and 
conscience  are  sometimes  at  odds.  One  man 
wears  his  faults  so  gracefully  that  we  can  hardly 
help  falling  in  love  with  them,  while  another, 
alas,  makes  even  virtue  itself  repulsive.  I  am 
moved  to  this  commonplace  reflection  by  think- 
ing of.  the  blue  jay,  a  bird  of  doubtful  character, 
but  one  for  whom,  nevertheless,  it  is  impossible 
not  to  feel  a  sort  of  affection  and  even  of  re- 
spect. He  is  quite  as  suspicious  as  the  brown 
thrush,  and  his  instinct  for  an  invisible  perch  is 
perhaps  as  unerring  as  the  cuckoo's  ;  and  yet, 
even  when  he  takes  to  hiding,  his  manner  is 
not  without  a  dash  of  boldness.  He  has  a  most 
irascible  temper,  also,  but,  unlike  the  thrasher, 
he  does  not  allow  his  ill-humor  to  degenerate 
into  chronic  sulkiness.  Instead,  he  flies  into  a 
furious  passion,  and  is  done  with  it.  Some  say 
that  on  such  occasions  he  swears,  and  I  have 
myself  seen  him  when  it  was  plain  that  nothing 
except  a  natural  impossibility  kept  him  from 
tearing  his  hair.  His  larynx  would  make  him 
a  singer,  and  his  mental  capacity  is  far  above 
the  average ;  but  he  has  perverted  his  gifts,  till 
his  music  is  nothing  but  noise  and  his  talent 
nothing  but  smartness.  A  like  process  of  dep- 
ravation the  world  has  before  now  witnessed  in 

5 


66        CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS. 

political  life,  when  a  man  of  brilliant  natural 
endowments  has  yielded  to  low  ambitions  and 
stooped  to  unworthy  means,  till  what  was 
meant  to  be  a  statesman  turns  out  to  be  a  dem- 
agogue. But  perhaps  we  wrong  our  handsome 
friend,  fallen  angel  though  he  be,  to  speak  thus 
of  him.  Most  likely  he  would  resent  the  com- 
parison, and  I  do  not  press  it.  We  must  admit 
that  juvenile  sportsmen  have  persecuted  him 
unduly  ;  and  when  a  creature  cannot  show  him- 
self without  being  shot  at,  he  may  be  pardoned 
for  a  little  misanthropy.  Christians  as  we  are, 
how  many  of  us  could  stand  such  a  test  ?  In 
these  circumstances,  it  is  a  point  in  the  jay's 
favor  that  he  still  has,  what  is  rare  with  birds, 
a  sense  of  humor,  albeit  it  is  humor  of  a  rather 
grim  sort,  —  the  sort  which  expends  itself  in 
practical  jokes  and  uncivil  epithets.  He  has 
discovered  the  school-boy's  secret :  that  for  the 
expression  of  unadulterated  derision  there  is 
nothing  like  the  short  sound  of  a,  prolonged 
into  a  drawl.  Yah,  yah,  he  cries  ;  and  some- 
times, as  you  enter  the  woods,  you  may  hear 
him  shouting  so  as  to  be  heard  for  half  a  mile, 
"  Here  comes  a  fool  with  a  gun  ;  look  out  for 
him  I  " 

It  is  natural  to  think  of  the  shrike  in  connec- 
tion with  the  jay,  but  the  two  have  points  of 
unlikeness  no  less  than  of  resemblance.  The 


CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS.        67 

shrike  is  a  taciturn  bird.  If  he  were  a  politi- 
cian, he  would  rely  chiefly  on  what  is  known 
as  the  "  still  hunt,"  although  he  too  can  scream 
loudly  enough  on  occasion.  His  most  salient 
trait  is  his  impudence,  but  even  that  is  of  a 
negative  type.  "  Who  are  you,"  he  says, 
"  that  I  should  be  at  the  trouble  to  insult 
you  ?  "  He  has  made  a  study  of  the  value  of 
silence  as  an  indication  of  contempt,  and  is  al- 
most human  in  his  ability  to  stare  straight  by 
a  person  whose  presence  it  suits  him  to  ignore. 
His  imperturbability  is  wonderful.  Watch 
him  as  closely  as  you  please,  you  will  never 
discover  what  he  is  thinking  about.  Under- 
take, for  instance,  now  that  the  fellow  is  sing- 
ing from  the  top  of  a  small  tree  only  a  few  rods 
from  where  you  are  standing,  —  undertake  to 
settle  the  long  dispute  whether  his  notes  are 
designed  to  decoy  small  birds  within  his  reach. 
Those  whistles  and  twitters,  —  hear  them  !  So 
miscellaneous  !  so  different  from  anything  which 
would  be  expected  from  a  bird  of  his  size  and 
general  disposition  !  so  very  like  the  notes  of 
sparrows  !  They  must  be  imitative.  You  be- 
gin to  feel  quite  sure  of  it.  But  just  at  this 
point  the  sounds  cease,  and  you  look  up  to  dis- 
cover that  Collurio  has  fallen  to  preening  his 
feathers  in  the  most  listless  manner  imaginable. 
"  Look  at  me,"  he  says  ;  "  do  I  act  like  one  on 


68        CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS. 

the  watch  for  his  prey  ?  Indeed,  sir,  I  wish 
the  innocent  sparrows  no  harm  ;  and  besides, 
if  you  must  know  it,  I  ate  an  excellent  game- 
breakfast  two  hours  ago,  while  laggards  like 
you  were  still  abed."  In  the  winter,  which  is 
the  only  season  when  I  have  been  able  to  ob- 
serve him,  the  shrike  is  to  the  last  degree  un- 
social, and  I  have  known  him  to  stay  for  a 
month  in  one  spot  all  by  himself,  spending  a 
good  part  of  every  day  perched  upon  a  tele- 
graph wire.  He  ought  not  to  be  very  happy, 
with  such  a  disposition,  one  would  think ;  but 
he  seems  to  be  well  contented,  and  sometimes 
his  spirits  are  fairly  exuberant.  Perhaps,  as 
the  phrase  is,  he  enjoys  himself;  in  which  case 
he  certainly  has  the  advantage  of  most  of  us, 
—  unless,  indeed,  we  are  easily  pleased.  At 
any  rate,  he  is  philosopher  enough  to  appreci- 
ate the  value  of  having  few  wants ;  and  I  am 
not  sure  but  that  he  anticipated  the  vaunted 
discovery  of  Teufelsdrockh,  that  the  fraction  of 
life  may  be  increased  by  lessening  the  denomi- 
nator. But  even  the  stoical  shrike  is  not  with- 
out his  epicurean  weakness.  When  he  has 
killed  a  sparrow,  he  eats  the  brains  first ;  after 
that,  if  he  is  still  hungry,  he  devours  the  coarser 
and  less  savory  parts.  In  this,  however,  he 
only  shares  the  well-nigh  universal  inconsis- 
tency. There  are  never  many  thorough-going 


CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS.        69 

stoics  in  the  world.  Epictetus  declared  with  an 
oath  that  he  should  be  glad  to  see  one.1  To 
take  everything  as  equally  good,  to  know  no 
difference  between  bitter  and  sweet,  penury  and 
plenty,  slander  and  praise,  —  this  is  a  great 
attainment,  a  Nirvana  to  which  few  can  hope 
to  arrive.  Some  wise  man  has  said  (and  the 
remark  has  more  meaning  than  may  at  once 
appear)  that  dying  is  usually  one  of  the  last 
things  which  men  do  in  this  world. 

Against  the  foil  of  the  butcher-bird's  stolid- 
ity we  may  set  the  inquisitive,  garrulous  tem- 
perament of  the  white-eyed  vireo  and  the  yel- 
low-breasted chat.  The  vireo  is  hardly  larger 
than  the  goldfinch,  but  let  him  be  in  one  of  his 
conversational  moods,  and  he  will  fill  a  smilax 
thicket  with  noise  enough  for  two  or  three  cat- 
birds. Meanwhile  he  keeps  his  eye  upon  you, 
and  seems  to  be  inviting  your  attention  to  his 
loquacious  abilities.  The  chat  is  perhaps  even 
more  voluble.  Staccato  whistles  and  snarls 
follow  each  other  at  most  extraordinary  inter- 
vals of  pitch,  and  the  attempt  at  showing  off  is 
sometimes  unmistakable.  Occasionally  he  takes 
to  the  air,  and  flies  from  one  tree  to  another; 
teetering  his  body  and  jerking  his  tail,  in  an 

l  This  does  not  harmonize  exactly  with  a  statement  which  Em- 
erson makes  somewhere,  to  the  effect  that  all  the  stoics  were  stoics 
indeed.  But  Epictetus  had  never  lived  in  Concord. 


70        CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS. 

indescribable  fashion,  and  chattering  all  the 
while.  His  "  inner  consciousness  "  at  such  a 
moment  would  be  worth  perusing.  Possibly 
he  has  some  feeling  for  the  grotesque.  But  I 
suspect  not ;  probably  what  we  laugh  at  as  the 
antics  of  a  clown  is  all  sober  earnest  to  him. 

At  best,  it  is  very  little  we  can  know  about 
what  is  passing  in  a  bird's  mind.  We  label 
him  with  two  or  three  sesguipedalia  verba,  give 
his  territorial  range,  describe  his  notes  and  his 
habits  of  nidification,  and  fancy  we  have  ren- 
dered an  account  of  the  bird.  But  how  should 
we  like  to  be  inventoried  in  such  a  style  ? 
"  His  name  was  John  Smith ;  he  lived  in  Bos- 
ton, in  a  three-story  brick  house  ;  he  had  a  bar- 
itone voice,  but  was  not  a  good  singer."  All 
true  enough ;  but  do  you  call  that  a  man's  bi- 
ography ? 

The  four  birds  last  spoken  of  are  all  wanting 
in  refinement.  The  jay  and  the  shrike  are 
wild  and  rough,  not  to  say  barbarous,  while  the 
white-eyed  vireo  and  the  chat  have  the  charac- 
ter which  commonly  goes  by  the  name  of  od- 
dity. All  four  are  interesting  for  their  strong 
individuality  and  their  picturesqueness,  but  it 
is  a  pleasure  to  turn  from  them  to  creatures 
like  our  four  common  New  England  Hylocich- 
Ice,  or  small  thrushes.  These  are  the  real  pa- 
tricians. With  their  modest  but  rich  dress, 


CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS.  71 

and  their  dignified,  quiet  demeanor,  they  stand 
for  the  true  aristocratic  spirit.  Like  all  genu- 
ine aristocrats,  they  carry  an  air  of  distinction, 
of  which  no  one  who  approaches  them  can  long 
remain  unconscious.  When  you  go  into  their 
haunts  they  do  not  appear  so  much  frightened 
as  offended.  "Why  do  you  intrude?"  they 
seem  to  say  ;  "  these  are  our  woods ;  "  and  they 
bow  you  out  with  all  ceremony.  Their  songs 
are  in  keeping  with  this  character;  leisurely, 
unambitious,  and  brief,  but  in  beauty  of  voice 
and  in  high  musical  quality  excelling  all  other 
music  of  the  woods.  However,  I  would  not 
exaggerate,  and  I  have  not  found  even  these 
thrushes  perfect.  The  hermit,  who  is  my  fa- 
vorite of  the  four,  has  a  habit  of  slowly  raising 
and  depressing  his  tail  when  his  mind  is  dis- 
turbed —  a  trick  of  which  it  is  likely  he  is  un- 
conscious, but  which,  to  say  the  least,  is  not  a 
mark  of  good  breeding  ;  and  the  Wilson,  while 
every  note  of  his  song  breathes  of  spirituality, 
has  nevertheless  a  most  vulgar  alarm  call,  a 
petulant,  nasal,  one-syllabled  yeork.  I  do  not 
know  anything  so  grave  against  the  wood 
thrush  or  the  Swainson  ;  although  when  I  have 
fooled  the  former  with  decoy  whistles,  I  have 
found  him  more  inquisitive  than  seemed  alto- 
gether becoming  to  a  bird  of  his  quality.  But 
character  without  flaw  is  hardly  to  be  insisted 


72        CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS. 

on  by  sons  of  Adam,  and,  after  all  deductions 
are  made,  the  claim  of  the  HylocicTilce  to  noble 
blood  can  never  be  seriously  disputed.  I  have 
spoken  of  the  four  together,  but  each  is  clearly 
distinguished  from  all  the  others ;  and  this  I 
believe  to  be  as  true  of  mental  traits  as  it  is  of 
details  of  plumage  and  song.  No  doubt,  in 
general,  they  are  much  alike  ;  we  may  say  that 
they  have  the  same  qualities  ;  but  a  close  ac- 
quaintance will  reveal  that  the  qualities  have 
been  mixed  in  different  proportions,  so  that  the 
total  result  in  each  case  is  a  personality  strictly 
unique. 

And  what  is  true  of  the  Hylocichlce  is  true 
of  every  bird  that  flies.  Anatomy  and  dress 
and  even  voice  aside,  who  does  not  feel  the  dis- 
similarity between  the  cat-bird  and  the  robin, 
and  still  more  the  difference,  amounting  to  con- 
trast, between  the  cat-bird  and  the  bluebird  ? 
Distinctions  of  color  and  form  are  what  first 
strike  the  eye,  but  on  better  acquaintance  these 
are  felt  to  be  superficial  and  comparatively  un- 
important ;  the  difference  is  not  one  of  outside 
appearance.  It  is  his  gentle,  high-bred  manner 
and  not  his  azure  coat,  which  makes  the  blue- 
bird ;  and  the  cat-bird  would  be  a  cat-bird  in 
no  matter  what  garb,  so  long  as  he  retained  his 
obtrusive  self-consciousness  and  his  prying, 
busy-body  spirit  ;  all  of  which,  being  inter- 


CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS.        73 

preted,  comes,  it  may  be,  to  no  more  than  this, 
"  Fine  feathers  don't  make  fine  birds." 

Even  in  families  containing  many  closely 
allied  species,  I  believe  that  every  species  has 
its  own  proper  character,  which  sufficient  inter- 
course would  enable  us  to  make  a  due  report 
of.  Nobody  ever  saw  a  song-sparrow  manifest- 
ing the  spirit  of  a  chipper,  and  I  trust  it  will  not 
be  in  my  day  that  any  of  our  American  spar- 
rows are  found  emulating  the  virtues  of  their 
obstreperous  immigrant  cousin.  Of  course  it  is 
true  of  birds,  as  of  men,  that  some  have  much 
more  individuality  than  others.  But  know  any 
bird  or  any  man  well  enough,  and  he  will  prove 
to  be  himself,  and  nobody  else.  To  know  the 
ten  thousand  birds  of  the  world  well  enough  to 
see  how,  in  bodily  structure,  habit  of  life,  and 
mental  characteristics,  every  one  is  different 
from  every  other  is  the  long  and  delightful  task 
which  is  set  before  the  ornithologist. 

But  this  is  not  all.  The  ornithology  of  the 
future  must  be  ready  to  give  an  answer  to  the 
further  question  how  these  divergences  of  anat- 
omy and  temperament  originated.  How  came 
the  chickadee  by  his  endless  fund  of  happy 
spirits  ?  Whence  did  the  towhee  derive  his 
equanimity,  and  the  brown  thrush  his  saturnine 
temper  ?  The  waxwing  and  the  vireo  have  the 
same  vocal  organs ;  why  should  the  first  do 


74  CHARACTER  IN  FEATHERS. 

nothing  but  whisper,  while  the  second  is  so 
loud  and  voluble  ?  Why  is  one  bird  belligerent 
and  another  peaceable ;  one  barbarous  and  an- 
other civilized ;  one  grave  and  another  gay  ? 
Who  can  tell  ?  We  can  make  here  and  there  a 
plausible  conjecture.  We  know  that  the  be- 
havior of  the  blue  jay  varies  greatly  in  different 
parts  of  the  country,  in  consequence  of  the  dif- 
ferent treatment  which  he  receives.  We  judge 
that  the  chickadee,  from  the  peculiarity  of  his 
feeding  habits,  is  more  certain  than  most  birds 
are  of  finding  a  meal  whenever  he  is  hungry ; 
and  that,  we  are  assured  from  experience,  goes 
a  long  way  toward  making  a  body  contented. 
We  think  it  likely  that  the  brown  thrush  is  at 
some  special  disadvantage  in  this  respect,  or  has 
some  peculiar  enemies  warring  upon  him ;  in 
which  case  it  is  no  more  than  we  might  expect 
that  he  should  be  a  pessimist.  And,  with  all 
our  ignorance,  we  are  yet  sure  that  everything 
has  a  cause,  and  we  would  fain  hold  by  the 
brave  word  of  Emerson,  "  Undoubtedly  we 
have  no  questions  to  ask  which  are  unanswer- 
able." 


IN  THE  WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 


Our  music 's  in  the  hills. 

EMERSON. 


IN  THE  WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 


IT  was  early  in  June  when  I  set  out  for  my 
third  visit  to  the  White  Mountains,  and  the 
ticket-seller  and  the  baggage-master  in  turn  as- 
sured me  that  the  Crawford  House,  which  I 
named  as  my  destination,  was  not  yet  open. 
They  spoke,  too,  in  the  tone  which  men  use 
when  they  mention  something  which,  but  for 
uncommon  stupidity,  you  would  have  known 
beforehand.  The  kindly  sarcasm  missed  its 
mark,  however.  I  was  aware  that  the  hotel 
was  not  yet  ready  for  the  "general  public." 
But  I  said  to  myself  that,  for  once  at  least,  I 
was  not  to  be  included  in  that  unfashionably 
promiscuous  company.  The  vulgar  crowd  must 
wait,  of  course.  For  the  present  the  mountains, 
in  reporters'  language,  were  "  on  private  view ; " 
and  despite  the  ignorance  of  railway  officials,  I 
was  one  of  the  elect.  In  plainer  phrase,  I  had 
in  my  pocket  a  letter  from  the  manager  of  the 
famous  inn  before  mentioned,  in  which  he  prom- 
ised to  do  what  he  could  for  my  entertainment, 


78  IN  THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

even  though  he  was  not  yet,  as  he  said,  keeping 
a  hotel. 

Possibly  I  made  too  much  of  a  small  matter ; 
but  it  pleased  me  to  feel  that  this  visit  of  mine 
was  to  be  of  a  peculiarly  intimate  character, — 
almost,  indeed,  as  if  Mount  Washington  him- 
self had  bidden  me  to  private  audience. 

Compelled  to  wait  three  or  four  hours  in 
North  Conway,  I  improved  the  opportunity  to 
stroll  once  more  down  into  the  lovely  Saco 
meadows,  whose  "  green  felicity  "  was  just  now 
at  its  height.  Here,  perched  upon  a  fence-rail, 
in  the  shadow  of  an  elm,  I  gazed  at  the  snow- 
crowned  Mount  Washington  range,  while  the 
bobolinks  and  savanna  sparrows  made  music  on 
every  side.  The  song  of  the  bobolinks  dropped 
from  above,  and  the  microphonic  tune  of  the 
sparrows  came  up  from  the  grass,  —  sky  and 
earth  keeping  holiday  together.  Almost  I 
could  have  believed  myself  in  Eden.  But, 
alas,  even  the  birds  themselves  were  long  since 
shut  out  of  that  garden  of  innocence,  and  as  I 
started  back  toward  the  village  a  crow  went 
hurrying  past  me,  with  a  kingbird  in  hot  pur- 
suit. The  latter  was  more  fortunate  than  us- 
ual, or  more  plucky  ;  actually  alighting  on  the 
crow's  back  and  riding  for  some  distance.  I 
could  not  distinguish  his  motions,  —  he  was  too 
far  away  for  that,  —  but  I  wished  him  joy  of 


IN  THE   WHITE  MOUNTAINS.  79 

his  victory,  and  grace  to  improve  it  to  the  full. 
For  it  is  scandalous  that  a  bird  of  the  crow's 
cloth  should  be  a  thief ;  and  so,  although  I 
reckon  him  among  my  friends,  —  in  truth,  be- 
cause I  do  so,  —  I  am  always  able  to  take  it 
patiently  when  I  see  him  chastised  for  his  fault. 
Imperfect  as  we  all  know  each  other  to  be,  it  is 
a  comfort  to  feel  that  few  of  us  are  so  alto- 
gether bad  as  not  to  take  more  or  less  pleasure 
in  seeing  a  neighbor's  character  improved  un- 
der a  course  of  moderately  painful  discipline. 

At  Bartlett  word  came  that  the  passenger 
car  would  go  no  further,  but  that  a  freight 
train  would  soon  start,  on  which,  if  I  chose,  I 
could  continue  my  journey.  Accordingly,  I 
rode  up  through  the  Notch  on  a  platform  car, 
—  a  mode  of  conveyance  which  I  can  heartily 
and  in  all  good  conscience  recommend.  There 
is  no  crowd  of  exclaiming  tourists,  the  train  of 
necessity  moves  slowly,  and  the  open  platform 
offers  no  obstruction  to  the  view.  For  a  time 
I  had  a  seat,  which  after  a  little  two  strangers 
ventured  to  occupy  with  me ;  for  "  it 's  an  ill 
wind  that  blows  nobody  good,''  and  there  hap- 
pened to  be  on  the  car  one  piece  of  baggage,  — 
a  coffin,  inclosed  in  a  pine  box.  Our  sitting 
upon  it  could  not  harm  either  it  or  us  ;  nor  did 
we  mean  any  disrespect  to  the  man,  whoever 
he  might  be,  whose  body  was  to  be  buried  in  it. 


80  IN  THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

Judging  the  dead  charitably,  as  in  duty  bound, 
I  had  no  doubt  he  would  have  been  glad  if  he 
could  have  seen  his  "  narrow  house "  put  to 
such  a  use.  So  we  made  ourselves  comfortable 
with  it,  until,  at  an  invisible  station,  it  was 
taken  off.  Then  we  were  obliged  to  stand,  or 
to  retreat  into  a  miserable  small  box-car  behind 
us.  The  platform  would  lurch  a  little  now  and 
then,  and  I,  for  one,  was  not  experienced  as  a 
"train  hand  ;  "  but  we  all  kept  our  places  till 
the  Frankenstein  trestle  was  reached.  Here, 
where  for  five  hundred  feet  we  could  look  down 
upon  the  jagged  rocks  eighty  feet  below  us, 
one  of  the  trio  suddenly  had  an  errand  into  the 
box-car  aforesaid,  leaving  the  platform  to  the 
other  stranger  and  me.  All  in  all,  the  ride 
through  the  Notch  had  never  before  been  so 
enjoyable,  I  thought;  and  late  in  the  evening 
I  found  myself  once  again  at  the  Crawford 
House,  and  in  one  of  the  best  rooms,  —  as  well 
enough  I  might  be,  being  the  only  guest  in  the 
house. 

The  next  morning,  before  it  was  really  light, 
I  was  lying  awake  looking  at  Mount  Webster, 
while  through  the  open  window  came  the  loud, 
cheery  song  of  the  white-throated  sparrows. 
The  hospitable  creatures  seemed  to  be  inviting 
me  to  come  at  once  into  their  woods ;  but  I 
knew  only  too  well  that,  if  the  invitation  were 


IN   THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS.  81 

accepted,  they  would  every  one  of  them  take 
to  hiding  like  bashful  children. 

The  white-throat  is  one  of  the  birds  for 
whom  I  cherish  a  special  liking.  On  my  first 
trip  to  the  mountains  I  jumped  off  the  train  for 
a  moment  at  Bartlett,  and  had  hardly  touched 
the  ground  before  I  heard  his  familiar  call. 
Here,  then,  was  Mr.  Peabody  at  home.  Season 
after  season  he  had  camped  near  me  in  Massa- 
chusetts, and  many  a  time  I  had  been  gladdened 
by  his  lively  serenade  ;  now  he  greeted  me  from 
his  own  native  woods.  So  far  as  my  observa- 
tions have  gone,  he  is  common  throughout  the 
mountain  region  ;  and  that  in  spite  of  the 
standard  guide-book,  which  puts  him  down  as 
patronizing  the  Glen  House  almost  exclusively. 
He  knows  the  routes  too  well  to  need  any  guide, 
however,  and  may  be  excused  for  his  ignorance 
of  the  official  programme.  It  is  wonderful  how 
shy  he  is,  —  the  more  wonderful,  because,  dur- 
ing his  migrations,  his  manner  is  so  very  differ- 
ent. Then,  even  in  a  city  park  you  may  watch 
him  at  your  leisure,  while  his  loud,  clear  whis- 
tle is  often  to  be  heard  rising  above  a  din  of 
horse-cars  and  heavy  wagons.  But  here,  in  his 
summer  quarters,  you  will  listen  to  his  song  a 
hundred  times  before  you  once  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  singer.  At  first  thought  it  seems  strange 
that  a  bird  should  be  most  at  home  when  he  is 

6 


82  IN  THE   WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

away  from  home ;  but  in  the  one  case  he  has 
nothing  but  his  own  safety  to  consult,  while  in 
the  other  he  is  thinking  of  those  whose  lives 
are  more  to  him  than  his  own,  and  whose  hid- 
ing-place he  is  every  moment  on  the  alert  to 
conceal. 

In  Massachusetts  we  do  not  expect  to  find 
sparrows  in  deep  woods.  They  belong  in  fields 
and  pastures,  in  roadside  thickets,  or  by  fence- 
rows  and  old  stone-walls  bordered  with  bar- 
berry bushes  and  alders.  But  these  white- 
throats  are  children  of  the  wilderness.  It  is 
one  charm  of  their  music  that  it  always  comes, 
or  seems  to  come,  from  such  a  distance,  —  from 
far  up  the  mountain-side,  or  from  the  inaccessi- 
ble depths  of  some  ravine.  I  shall  not  soon  for- 
get its  wild  beauty  as  it  rose  out  of  the  spruce 
forests  below  me,  while  I  was  enjoying  an 
evening  promenade,  all  by  myself,  over  the 
long,  flat  summit  of  Moosilauke.  From  his 
habit  of  singing  late  at  night  this  sparrow  is  in 
some  places  known  as  the  nightingale.  His 
more  common  name  is  the  Peabody  bird ;  while 
a  Jefferson  man,  who  was  driving  me  over  the 
Cherry  Mountain  road,  called  him  the  Peverly 
bird,  and  told  me  the  following  story :  — 

A  farmer  named  Peverly  was  walking  about 
his  fields  one  spring  morning,  trying  to  make 
up  his  mind  whether  the  time  had  come  to  put 


IN    THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS.  83 

in  his  wheat.  The  question  was  important, 
and  he  was  still  in  a  deep  quandary,  when  a 
bird  spoke  up  out  of  the  wood  and  said,  "  Sow 
wheat,  Peverly,  Peverly,  Peverly !  —  Sow  wheat, 
Peverly,  Peverly,  Peverly  !  "  That  settled  the 
matter.  The  wheat  was  sown,  and  in  the  fall 
a  most  abundant  harvest  was  gathered  ;  and 
ever  since  then  this  little  feathered  oracle  has 
been  known  as  the  Peverly  bird. 

We  have  improved  on  the  custom  of  the  an- 
cients :  they  examined  a  bird's  entrails ;  we  lis- 
ten to  his  song.  Who  says  the  Yankee  is  not 
wiser  than  the  Greek  ? 

But  I  was  lying  abed  in  the  Crawford  House 
when  the  voice  of  Zonotrichia  albicollis  sent 
my  thoughts  thus  astray,  from  Moosilauke  to 
Delphi.  That  day  and  the  two  following  were 
passed  in  roaming  about  the  woods  near  the 
hotel.  The  pretty  painted  trillium  was  in  blos- 
som, as  was  also  the  dark  purple  species,  and 
the  hobble-bush  showed  its  broad  white  cymes 
in  all  directions.  Here  and  there  was  the  mod- 
est little  spring  beauty  (Claytonia  Carolini- 
ana),  and  not  far  from  the  Elephant's  Head  I 
discovered  my  first  and  only  patch  of  dicentra, 
with  its  delicate  dissected  leaves  and  its  oddly 
shaped  petals  of  white  and  pale  yellow.  The 
false  mitrewort  (Tiardla  cordifolia)  was  in 
flower  likewise,  and  the  spur  which  is  cut  off 


84  IN  THE   WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

Mount  Willard  by  the  railroad  was  all  aglow 
with  rhodora,  —  a  perfect  flower-garden,  on  the 
monochromatic  plan  now  so  much  in  vogue. 
Along  the  edge  of  the  rocks  on  the  summit  of 
Mount  Willard  a  great  profusion  of  the  com- 
mon saxifrage  was  waving  in  the  fresh  breeze : 

"  Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance, 
Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance." 

On  the  lower  parts  of  the  mountains,  the  foli- 
age was  already  well  out,  while  the  upper  parts 
were  of  a  fine  purplish  tint,  which  at  first  I 
was  unable  to  account  for,  but  which  I  soon 
discovered  to  be  due  to  the  fact  that  the  trees 
at  that  height  were  still  only  in  bud. 

A  notable  feature  of  the  White  Mountain 
forests  is  the  absence  of  oaks  and  hickories. 
These  tough,  hard  woods  would  seem  to  have 
been  created  on  purpose  to  stand  against  wind 
and  cold.  But  no ;  the  hills  are  covered  with 
the  fragile  poplars  and  birches  and  spruces, 
with  never  an  oak  or  hickory  among  them.  I 
suspect,  indeed,  that  it  is  the  very  softness  of 
the  former  which  gives  them  their  advantage. 
For  this,  as  I  suppose,  is  correlated  with  rapid 
growth ;  and  where  the  summer  is  very  short, 
speed  may  count  for  more  than  firmness  of 
texture,  especially  during  the  first  one  or  two 
years  of  the  plant's  life.  Trees,  like  men,  lose 
in  one  way  what  they  gain  in  another ;  or,  in 


IN   THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS.  85 

other  words,  they  "have  the  defects  of  their 
qualities."  Probably  Paul's  confession,  "  When 
I  am  weak,  then  am  I  strong,"  is  after  all  only 
the  personal  statement  of  a  general  law,  as  true 
of  a  poplar  as  of  a  Christian.  For  we  all  be- 
lieve (do  we  not?)  that  the  world  is  a  uni- 
verse, governed  throughout  by  one  Mind,  so 
that  whatever  holds  in  one  part  is  good  every- 
where. 

But  it  was  June,  and  the  birds,  who  were 
singing  from  daylight  till  dark,  would  have  the 
most  of  my  attention.  It  was  pleasant  to  find 
here  two  comparatively  rare  warblers,  of  whom 
I  had  before  had  only  casual  glimpses,  —  the 
mourning  warbler  and  the  bay-breasted.  The 
former  was  singing  his  loud  but  commonplace 
ditty  within  a  few  rods  of  the  piazza  on  one 
side  of  the  house,  while  his  congener,  the  Mary- 
land yellow-throat,  was  to  be  heard  on  the  other 
side,  along  with  the  black-cap  {Dendroeca  stri- 
ata),  the  black-and-yellow,  and  the  Canadian 
flycatcher.  The  mourning  warbler's  song,  as 
I  heard  it,  was  like  this  :  Whit  whit  whit,  wit 
wit.  The  first  three  notes  were  deliberate  and 
loud,  on  one  key,  and  without  accent.  The 
last  two  were  pitched  a  little  lower,  and  were 
shorter,  with  the  accent  on  the  first  of  the  pair ; 
they  were  thinner  in  tone  than  the  opening 
triplet,  as  is  meant  to  be  indicated  by  the  dif- 


86  IN  THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

ference  of  spelling.1  Others  of  the  family  were 
the  golden  -  crowned  thrush,  the  small -billed 
water- thrush,  the  yellow-rumped,  the  Blaek- 
burnian  (with  his  characteristic  zillup,  zillup^ 
zillup),  the  black-throated  green,  the  black- 
throated  blue  (the  last  with  his  loud,  coarse 
Jcree,  kree,  Icree)^  the  redstart,  and  the  elegant 
blue  yellow-back.  Altogether,  they  were  a  gor- 
geous company. 

But  the  chief  singers  were  the  olive-backed 
thrushes  and  the  winter  wrens.  I  should  be 
glad  to  know  on  just  what  principle  the  olive- 
backs  and  their  near  relatives,  the  hermits,  dis- 
tribute themselves  throughout  the  mountain 
region.  Each  species  seems  to  have  its  own 
sections,  to  which  it  returns  year  after  year, 
and  the  olive-backed,  being,  as  is  well  known, 
the  more  northern  species  of  the  two,  naturally 
prefers  the  more  elevated  situations.  I  have 
found  the  latter  abundant  near  the  Profile 
House,  and  for  three  seasons  it  has  had  exclu- 
sive possession  of  the  White  Mountain  Notch,  — 
so  far,  at  least,  as  I  have  been  able  to  discover.2 
The  hermits,  on  the  other  hand,  frequent  such 
places  as  North  Conway,  Gorham,  Jefferson, 
Bethlehem,  and  the  vicinity  of  the  Flume. 

1  He  is  said  to  have  another  song,  beautiful  and  wren-like ;  but 
that  I  have  never  heard. 

2  This  is  making  no  account  of  the  gray-cheeked  thrushes,  who 
are  found  only  near  the  tops  of  the  mountains. 


IN   THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS.  87 

Only  once  have  I  found  the  two  species  in  the 
same  neighborhood.  That  was  near  the  Breezy 
Point  House,  on  the  side  of  Mount  Moosilauke ; 
but  this  place  is  so  peculiarly  romantic,  with  its 
noble  amphitheatre  of  hills,  that  I  could  not 
wonder  neither  species  was  willing  to  yield  the 
ground  entirely  to  the  other ;  and  even  here  it 
was  to  be  noticed  that  the  hermits  were  in  or 
near  the  sugar-grove,  while  the  Swainsons  were 
in  the  forest,  far  off  in  an  opposite  direction.1 

It  is  these  birds,  if  any,  whose  music  reaches 
the  ears  of  the  ordinary  mountain  tourist. 
Every  man  who  is  known  among  his  acquaint- 
ances to  have  a  little  knowledge  of  such  things 
is  approached  now  and  then  with  the  question, 
"  What  bird  was  it,  Mr.  So-and-So,  that  I  heard 
singing  up  in  the  mountains  ?  I  did  n't  see 
him ;  he  was  always  ever  so  far  off ;  but  his 
voice  was  wonderful,  so  sweet  and  clear  and 
loud !  "  As  a  rule  it  may  safely  be  taken  for 
granted  that  such  interrogatories  refer  either 
to  the  Swainson  thrush  or  to  the  hermit.  The 
inquirer  is  very  likely  disposed  to  be  incredu- 
lous when  he  is  told  that  there  are  birds  in  his 
own  woods  whose  voice  is  so  like  that  of  his 
admired  New  Hampshire  songster  that,  if  he 
were  to  hear  the  two  together,  he  would  not  at 

1  I  have  since  found  both  species  at  Willoughby  Lake,  Vermont, 
and  the  veery  with  them. 


88  IN  THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

first  be  able  to  tell  the  one  from  the  other.  He 
has  never  heard  them,  he  protests ;  which  is 
true  enough,  for  he  never  goes  into  the  woods 
of  his  own  town,  or,  if  by  chance  he  does,  he 
leaves  his  ears  behind  him  in  the  shop.  His 
case  is  not  peculiar.  Men  and  women  gaze 
enraptured  at  New  Hampshire  sunsets.  How 
glorious  they  are,  to  be  sure !  What  a  pity  the 
sun  does  not  sometimes  set  in  Massachusetts  ! 

As  a  musician  the  olive-back  is  certainly  in- 
ferior to  the  hermit,  and,  according  to  my  taste, 
he  is  surpassed  also  by  the  wood  thrush  and  the 
Wilson ;  but  he  is  a  magnificent  singer,  for  all 
that,  and  when  he  is  heard  in  the  absence  of 
the  others  it  is  often  hard  to  believe  that  any 
one  of  them  could  do  better.  A  good  idea  of  the 
rhythm  and  length  of  his  song  may  be  gained 
by  pronouncing  somewhat  rapidly  the  words, 
"  I  love,  I  love,  I  love  you,"  or,  as  it  sometimes 
runs,  "  I  love,  I  love,  I  love  you  truly."  How 
literal  this  translation  is  I  am  not  scholar 
enough  to  determine,  but  without  question  it 
gives  the  sense  substantially. 

The  winter  wrens  were  less  numerous  than 
the  thrushes,  I  think,  but,  like  them,  they  sang 
at  all  hours  of  the  day,  and  seemed  to  be  well 
distributed  throughout  the  woods.  We  can 
hardly  help  asking  how  it  is  that  two  birds  so 
very  closely  related  as  the  house  wren  and  the 


IN   THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS.  89 

winter  wren  should  have  chosen  haunts  so  ex- 
tremely diverse,  —  the  one  preferring  door-yards 
in  thickly  settled  villages,  the  other  keeping 
strictly  to  the  wildest  of  all  wild  places.  But 
whatever  the  explanation,  we  need  not  wish  the 
fact  itself  different.  Comparatively  few  ever 
hear  the  winter  wren's  song,  to  be  sure  (for 
you  will  hardly  get  it  from  a  hotel  piazza),  but 
it  is  not  the  less  enjoyed  on  that  account. 
There  is  such  a  thing  as  a  bird's  making  him- 
self too  common  ;  and  probably  it  is  true  even  of 
the  great  prima  donna  that  it  is  not  those  who 
live  in  the  house  with  her  who  find  most  pleas- 
ure in  her  music.  Moreover,  there  is  much  in 
time  and  circumstance.  You  hear  a  song  in 
the  village  street,  and  pass  along  unmoved  ;  but 
stand  in  the  silence  of  the  forest,  with  your  feet 
in  a  bed  of  creeping  snowberry  and  oxalis,  and 
the  same  song  goes  to  your  very  soul. 

The  great  distinction  of  the  winter  wren's 
melody  is  its  marked  rhythm  and  accent,  which 
give  it  a  martial,  fife -like  character.  Note 
tumbles  over  note  in  the  true  wren  manner,  and 
the  strain  comes  to  an  end  so  suddenly  that  for 
the  first  few  times  you  are  likely  to  think  that 
the  bird  has  been  interrupted.  In  the  middle 
is  a  long  in-drawn  note,  much  like  one  of  the 
canary's.  The  odd  little  creature  does  not  get 
far  away  from  the  ground.  I  have  never  seen 


90  IN  THE    WHITE   MOUNTAINS. 

him  sing  from  a  living  tree  or  bush,  but  always 
from  a  stump  or  a  log,  or  from  the  root  or 
branch  of  an  overturned  tree,  —  from  some- 
thing, at  least,  of  nearly  his  own  color.1  The 
song  is  intrinsically  one  of  the  most  beautiful, 
and  in  my  ears  it  has  the  further  merit  of  being 
forever  associated  with  reminiscences  of  ram- 
blings  among  the  White  Hills.  How  well  I 
remember  an  early  morning  hour  at  Profile 
Lake,  when  it  came  again  and  again  across  the 
water  from  the  woods  on  Mount  Cannon,  under 
the  Great  Stone  Face ! 

Whichever  way  I  walked,  I  was  sure  of  the 
society  of  the  snow-birds.  They  hopped  famil- 
iarly across  the  railroad  track  in  front  of  the 
Crawford  House,  and  on  the  summit  of  Mount 
Washington  were  scurrying  about  among  the 
rocks,  opening  and  shutting  their  pretty  white- 
bordered  fans.  Half-way  up  Mount  Willard  I 
sat  down  to  rest  on  a  stone,  and  after  a  minute 
or  two  out  dropped  a  snow-bird  at  my  feet,  and 
ran  across  the  road,  trailing  her  wings.  I  looked 
under  the  bank  for  her  nest,  but,  to  my  surprise, 
could  find  nothing  of  it.  So  I  made  sure  of 
knowing  the  place  again,  and  continued  my 
tramp.  Returning  two  hours  later,  I  sat  down 
upon  the  same  bowlder,  and  watched  for  the 

1  True  when  written,  but  now  needing  to  be  qualified  by  one 
exception.     See  p.  226. 


IN  THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS.  91 

bird  to  appear  as  before;  but  she  had  gath- 
ered courage  from  my  former  failure, — or  so 
it  seemed,  —  and  I  waited  in  vain  till  I  rapped 
upon  the  ground  over  her  head.  Then  she  scram- 
bled out  and  limped  away,  repeating  her  inno- 
cent but  hackneyed  ruse.  This  time  I  was  re- 
solved not  to  be  baffled.  The  nest  was  there, 
and  I  would  find  it.  So  down  on  my  knees  I 
got,  and  scrutinized  the  whole  place  most  care- 
fully. But  though  I  had  marked  the  precise 
spot,  there  was  no  sign  of  a  nest.  I  was  about 
giving  over  the  search  ignominiously,  when  I  de- 
scried a  slight  opening  between  the  overhang- 
ing roof  of  the  bank  and  a  layer  of  earth  which 
some  roots  held  in  place  close  under  it.  Into 
this  slit  I  inserted  my  fingers,  and  there,  en- 
tirely out  of  sight,  was  the  nest  full  of  eggs.  No 
man  could  ever  have  found  it,  had  the  bird  been 
brave  and  wise  enough  to  keep  her  seat.  How- 
ever, I  had  before  this  noticed  that  the  snow- 
bird, while  often  extremely  clever  in  choosing 
a  building  site,  is  seldom  very  skillful  in  keeping 
a  secret.  I  saw  him  one  day  standing  on  the 
side  of  the  same  Mount  Willard  road,1  gesticu- 

1  Beside  this  road  (in  June,  1883)  I  found  a  nest  of  the  yellow- 
bellied  flycatcher  (Empidonax  flaviventris).  It  was  built  at  the 
base  of  a  decayed  stump,  in  a  little  depression  between  two  roots, 
and  was  partially  overarched  with  growing  moss.  It  contained 
four  eggs,  —  white,  spotted  with  brown.  I  called  upon  the  bird 
half  a  dozen  times  or  more,  and  found  her  a  model  "  keeper  at 


92  IN  THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

lating  and  scolding  with  all  his  might,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  Please  don't  stop  here !  Go  straight 
along,  I  beg  of  you  !  Our  nest  is  right  under 
this  bank  ! "  And  one  glance  under  the  bank 
showed  that  I  had  not  misinterpreted  his  dem- 
onstrations. For  all  that,  I  do  not  feel  like 
taking  a  lofty  tone  in  passing  judgment  upon 
Junco.  He  is  not  the  only  one  whose  wisdom 
is  mixed  with  foolishness.  There  is  at  least  one 
other  person  of  whom  the  same  is  true,  —  a 
person  of  whom  I  have  nevertheless  a  very  good 
opinion,  and  with  whom  I  am,  or  ought  to  be, 
better  acquainted  than  I  am  with  any  animal 
that  wears  feathers. 

The  prettiest  snow-bird's  nest  I  ever  saw  was 
built  beside  the  Crawford  bridle  path,  on  Mount 
Clinton,  just  before  the  path  comes  out  of  the 
woods  at  the  top.  It  was  lined  with  hair-moss 
(a  species  of  Polytrichum)  of  a  bright  orange 
color,  and  with  its  four  or  five  white,  lilac-spot- 
ted eggs  made  so  attractive  a  picture  that  I  was 
constrained  to  pause  a  moment  to  look  at  it, 
even  though  I  had  three  miles  of  a  steep,  rough 
footpath  to  descend,  with  a  shower  threatening 

home."  On  one  occasion  she  allowed  my  hand  to  come  wi'thin  two 
or  three  inches  of  her  bill.  In  every  case  she  flew  off  without  any 
outcry  or  ruse,  and  once  at  least  she  fell  immediately  to  fly-catch- 
ing with  admirable  philosophy.  So  far  as  I  know,  this  is  the  only 
nest  of  the  species  ever  found  in  New  England  outside  of  Maine. 
But  it  is  proper  to  add  that  I  did  not  capture  the  bird. 


IN  THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS.  93 

to  overtake  me  before  I  could  reach  the  bottom. 
I  wondered  whether  the  architects  really  pos- 
sessed an  eye  for  color,  or  had  only  stumbled 
upon  this  elegant  bit  of  decoration.  On  the 
whole,  it  seemed  more  charitable  to  conclude  the 
former  ;  and  not  only  more  charitable,  but  more 
scientific  as  well.  For,  if  I  understand  the  mat- 
ter aright,  Mr.  Darwin  and  his  followers  have 
settled  upon  the  opinion  that  birds  do  display 
an  unmistakable  fondness  for  bright  tints  ;  that, 
indeed,  the  males  of  many  species  wear  brilliant 
plumage  for  no  other  reason  than  that  their 
mates  prefer  them  in  that  dress.  Moreover,  if 
a  bird  in  New  South  Wales  adorns  her  bower 
with  shells  and  other  ornaments,  why  may  not 
our  little  Northern  darling  beautify  her  nest 
with  such  humbler  materials  as  her  surround- 
ings offer?  On  reflection,  I  am  more  and  more 
convinced  that  the  birds  knew  what  they  were 
doing ;  probably  the  female,  the  moment  she 
discovered  the  moss,  called  to  her  mate,  "  Oh, 
look,  how  lovely  !  Do,  my  dear,  let 's  line  our 
nest  with  it !  " 

This  artistic  structure  was  found  on  the  an- 
niversary of  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  a  day 
which  I  had  been  celebrating,  as  best  I  could, 
by  climbing  the  highest  hill  in  New  England. 
Plunging  into  the  woods  within  fifty  yards  of 
the  Crawford  House,  I  had  gone  up  and  up, 


94  IN  THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

and  on  and  on,  through  a  magnificent  forest, 
and  then  over  more  magnificent  rocky  heights, 
until  I  stood  at  last  on  the  platform  of  the  hotel 
at  the  summit.  True,  the  path,  which  I  had 
never  traveled  before,  was  wet  and  slippery, 
with  stretches  of  ice  and  snow  here  and  there  ; 
but  the  shifting  view  was  so  grand,  the  atmos- 
phere so  bracing,  and  the  solitude  so  impressive 
that  I  enjoyed  every  step,  till  it  came  to  clam- 
bering up  the  Mount  Washington  cone  over  the 
bowlders.  At  this  point,  to  speak  frankly,  I 
began  to  hope  that  the  ninth  mile  would  prove 
to  be  a  short  one.  The  guide-books  are  agreed 
in  warning  the  visitor  against  making  this  as- 
cent without  a  companion,  and  no  doubt  they 
are  right  in  so  doing.  A  crippling  accident 
would  almost  in'evitably  be  fatal,  while  for  sev- 
eral miles  the  trail  is  so  indistinct  that  it  would 
be  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  follow  it  in  a 
fog.  And  yet,  if  one  is  willing  to  take  the 
risk  (and  is  not  so  unfortunate  as  never  to 
have  learned  how  to  keep  himself  company), 
he  will  find  a  very  considerable  compensation 
in  the  peculiar  pleasure  to  be  experienced  in 
being  absolutely  alone  above  the  world.  For 
myself,  I  was  shut  up  to  going  in  this  way  or 
not  going  at  all ;  and  a  Bostonian  must  do 
something  patriotic  on  the  Seventeenth  of  June. 
But  for  all  that,  if  the  storm  which  chased  me 


IN  THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS.  95 

down  the  mountains  in  the  afternoon,  clouding 
first  Mount  Washington  and  then  Mount  Pleas- 
ant behind  me,  and  shutting  me  indoors  all  the 
next  day,  had  started  an  hour  sooner,  or  if  I  had 
been  detained  an  hour  later,  it  is  not  impossi- 
ble that  I  might  now  be  writing  in  a  different 
strain. 

My  reception  at  the  top  was  none  of  the 
heartiest.  The  hotel  was  tightly  closed,  while 
a  large  snow-bank  stood  guard  before  the  door. 
However,  I  invited  myself  into  the  Signal  Ser- 
vice Station,  and  made  my  wants  known  to  one 
of  the  officers,  who  very  kindly  spread  a  table 
with  such  things  as  he  and  his  companions  had 
just  been  eating.  It  would  be  out  of  place  to 
say  much  about  the  luncheon  :  the  bread  and 
butter  were  good,  and  the  pudding  was  interest- 
ing. I  had  the  cook's  word  for  it  that  the  lat- 
ter was  made  of  corn-starch,  but  he  volunteered 
no  explanation  of  its  color,  which  was  nearly 
that  of  chocolate.  As  a  working  hypothesis  I 
adopted  the  molasses  or  brown-sugar  theory,  but 
a  brief  experiment  (as  brief  as  politeness  per- 
mitted) indicated  a  total  absence  of  any  saccha- 
rine principle.  But  then,  what  do  we  climb 
mountains  for,  if  not  to  see  something  out  of 
the  common  course  ?  On  the  whole,  if  this  de- 
partment of  our  national  government  is  ever  on 
trial  for  extravagance  in  the  matter  of  high  liv- 


96  JN  THE  WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

ing,  I  shall  be  moved  to  offer  myself  as  a  com- 
petent witness  for  the  defense. 

A  company  of  chimney-swifts  were  flying 
criss-cross  over  the  summit,  and  one  of  the  men 
said  that  he  presumed  they  lived  there.  I  took 
the  liberty  to  doubt  his  opinion,  however.  To 
me  it  seemed  nothing  but  a  blunder  that  they 
should  be  there  even  for  an  hour.  There  could 
hardly  be  many  insects  at  that  height,  I  thought, 
and  I  had  abundant  cause  to  know  that  the 
woods  below  were  full  of  them.  I  knew,  also, 
that  the  swifts  knew  it ;  for  while  I  had  been 
prowling  about  between  Crawford's  and  Fab- 
yan's,  they  had  several  times  shot  by  my  head 
so  closely  that  I  had  instinctively  fallen  to  cal- 
culating the  probable  consequences  of  a  colli- 
sion. But,  after  all,  the  swift  is  no  doubt  a 
far  better  entomologist  than  I  am,  though  he 
has  never  heard  of  Packard's  Guide.  Possibly 
there  are  certain  species  of  insects,  and  those 
of  a  peculiarly  delicate  savor,  which  are  to  be 
obtained  only  at  about  this  altitude. 

The  most  enjoyable  part  of  the  Crawford  path 
is  the  five  miles  from  the  top  of  Mount  Clinton 
to  the  foot  of  the  Mount  Washington  cone. 
Along  this  ridge  I  was  delighted  to  find  in  blos- 
som two  beautiful  Alpine  plants,  which  I  had 
missed  in  previous  (July)  visits,  —  the  diapen- 
sia  (Diapemia  Lapponica)  and  the  Lapland  rose- 


IN  THE   WHITE  MOUNTAINS.  97 

bay  (Rhododendron  Lapponicum),  —  and  to  get 
also  a  single  forward  specimen  of  Potentilla 
frigida.  Here  and  there  was  a  bumblebee, 
gathering  honey  from  the  small  purple  catkins 
of  the  prostrate  willows,  now  in  full  bloom. 
(Rather  high-minded  hurnblebees,  they  seemed, 
more  than  five  thousand  feet  above  the  sea !) 
Professional  entomologists  (the  chimney-swift, 
perhaps,  included)  may  smile  at  my  simplicity, 
but  I  was  surprised  to  find  this  "  animated  tor- 
rid zone,"  this  "  insect  lover  of  the  sun,"  in  such 
a  Greenland  climate.  Did  he  not  know  that  his 
own  poet  had  described  him  as  "hot  midsum- 
mer's petted  crone "  ?  But  possibly  he  was 
equally  surprised  at  my  appearance.  He  might 
even  have  taken  his  turn  at  quoting  Emer- 
son :  — 

"Pants  up  hither  the  spruce  clerk 
From  South  Cove  and  City  Wharf"  ?  1 

Of  the  two,  he  was  unquestionably  the  more  at 
home,  for  he  was  living  where  in  forty-eight 
hours  I  should  have  found  my  death.  So  much 
is  Bombus  better  than  a  man. 

In  a  little  pool  of  water,  which  seemed  to  be 

1  But  by  this  time  the  clerk's  appearance  was,  to  say  the  least, 
not  reprehensibly  "  spruce."  For  one  thing,  what  with  the  moist- 
ure  and  the  sharp  stones,  he  was  already  becoming  jealous  of  his 
shoes,  lest  they  should  not  hold  together  till  he  could  get  back  to 
the  Crawford  House. 
7 


98  IN  THE   WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

nothing  but  a  transient  puddle  caused  by  the 
melting  snow,  was  a  tiny  fish.  I  asked  him  by 
what  miracle  he  got  there,  but  he  could  give  no 
explanation.  He,  too,  might  well  enough  have 
joined  the  noble  company  of  Emersonian s  :  — 

"  I  never  thought  to  ask,  I  never  knew  ; 
But,  in  my  simple  ignorance,  suppose 
The  self-same  Power  that  brought  me  here  brought  you." 

Almost  at  the  very  top  of  Mount  Clinton  I 
was  saluted  by  the  familiar  ditty  of  the  Nash- 
ville warbler.  I  could  hardly  believe  my  ears  ; 
but  there  was  no  mistake,  for  the  bird  soon  ap- 
peared in  plain  sight.  Had  it  been  one  of  the 
hardier-seeming  species,  the  yellow-rumped  for 
example,  I  should  not  have  thought  it  very 
strange  ;  but  this  dainty  HelmintJiophaga^  so 
common  in  the  vicinity  of  Boston,  did  appear  to 
be  out  of  his  latitude,  summering  here  on  Al- 
pine heights.  With  a  good  pair  of  wings,  and 
the  whole  continent  to  choose  from,  he  surely 
might  have  found  some  more  congenial  spot 
than  this  in  which  to  bring  up  his  little  family. 
I  took  his  presence  to  be  only  an  individual 
freak,  but  a  subsequent  visitor,  who  made  the 
ascent  from  the  Glen,  reported  the  same  spe- 
cies on  that  side  also,  and  at  about,  the  same 
height. 

These  signs  of  life  on  bleak  mountain  ridges 
are  highly  interesting  and  suggestive.  The 


IN  THE  WHITE  MOUNTAINS.  99 

fish,  the  bumblebees,  the  birds,  and  a  mouse 
which  scampered  away  to  its  hole  amid  the 
rocks,  —  all  these  might  have  found  better  liv- 
ing elsewhere.  But  Nature  will  have  her  world 
full.  Stunted  life  is  better  than  none,  she 
thinks.  So  she  plants  her  forests  of  spruces, 
and  keeps  them  growing,  where,  with  all  their 
efforts,  they  cannot  get  above  the  height  of  a 
man's  knee.  There  is  no  beauty  about  them, 
no  grace.  They  sacrifice  symmetry  and  every- 
thing else  for  the  sake  of  bare  existence,  re- 
minding one  of  Satan's  remark,  "  All  that  a 
man  hath  will  he  give  for  his  life." 

Very  admirable  are  the  devices  by  which  veg- 
etation maintains  itself  against  odds.  Every- 
body notices  that  many  of  the  mountain  species, 
like  the  diapensia,  the  rose-bay,  the  Greenland 
sandwort  (called  the  mountain  daisy  by  the 
Summit  House  people,  for  some  inscrutable 
reason),  and  the  phyllodoce,  have  blossoms  dis- 
proportionately large  and  handsome  ;  as  if  they 
realized  that,  in  order  to  attract  their  indispen- 
sable allies,  the  insects,  to  these  inhospitable 
regions,  they  must  offer  them  some  special  in- 
ducements. Their  case  is  not  unlike  that  of  a 
certain  mountain  hotel  which  might  be  named, 
which  happens  to  be  poorly  situated,  but  which 
keeps  itself  full,  nevertheless,  by  the  peculiar 
excellence  of  its  cuisine. 


100  IN   THE  WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

It  does  not  require  much  imagination  to  be- 
lieve that  these  hardy  vegetable  mountaineers 
love  their  wild,  desolate  dwelling-places  as  truly 
as  do  the  human  residents  of  the  region.  An 
old  man  in  Bethlehem  told  me  that  sometimes, 
during  the  long,  cold  winter,  he  felt  that  per- 
haps it  would  be  well  for  him,  now  his  work 
was  done,  to  sell  his  "  place  "  and  go  down  to 
Boston  to  live,  near  his  brother.  "  But  then," 
he  added,  "  you  know  it 's  dangerous  transplant- 
ing an  old  tree ;  you  're  likely  as  not  to  kill  it." 
Whatever  we  have,  in  this  world,  we  must  pay 
for  with  the  loss  of  something  else.  The  bitter 
must  be  taken  with  the  sweet,  be  we  plants,  an- 
imals, or  men.  These  thoughts  recurred  to  me 
a  day  or  two  later,  as  I  lay  on  the  summit  of 
Mount  Agassiz,  in  the  sun  and  out  of  the  wind, 
gazing  down  into  the  Franconia  Valley,  then  in 
all  its  June  beauty.  Nestled  under  the  lee  of 
the  mountain,  but  farther  from  the  base,  doubt- 
less, than  it  seemed  from  my  point  of  view,  was 
a  small  dwelling,  scarcely  better  than  a  shanty. 
Two  or  three  young  children  were  playing  about 
the  door,  and  near  them  was  the  man  of  the 
house  splitting  wood.  The  air  was  still  enough 
for  me  to  hear  every  blow,  although  it  reached 
me  only  as  the  axe  was  again  over  the  man's 
head,  ready  for  the  next  descent.  Ifc  was  a 
charming  picture,  —  the  broadr  green  valley  full 


IN  THE  WHITE  MOUNTAINS.  101 

of  sunshine  and  peace,  and  the  solitary  cottage, 
from  whose  doorstep  might  be  seen  in  one  di- 
rection the  noble  Mount  Washington  range,  and 
in  another  the  hardly  less  noble  Franconias. 
How  easy  to  live  simply  and  well  in  such  a 
grand  seclusion !  But  soon  there  came  a 
thought  of  Wordsworth's  sonnet,  addressed  to 
just  such  a  mood,  "  Yes,  there  is  holy  pleasure 
in  thine  eye,"  and  I  felt  at  once  the  truth  of  his 
admonition.  What  if  the  cottage  really  were 
mine,  —  mine  to  spend  a  lifetime  in  ?  How 
quickly  the  poetry  would  turn  to  prose  ! 

An  hour  afterwards,  on  my  way  back  to  the 
Sinclair  House,  I  passed  a  group  of  men  at 
work  on  the  highway.  One  of  them  was  a  lit- 
tle apart  from  the  rest,  and  out  of  a  social  im- 
pulse I  accosted  him  with  the  remark,  "  I  sup- 
pose, in  heaven,  the  streets  never  will  need 
mending."  Quick  as  thought  came  the  reply : 
"  Well,  I  hope  not.  If  I  ever  get  there,  I  don't 
want  to  work  on  the  road"  Here  spoke  uni- 
versal human  nature,  which  finds  its  strong 
argument  for  immortality  in  its  discontent  with 
matters  as  they  now  are.  The  one  thing  we 
are  all  sure  of  is  that  we  were  born  for  some- 
thing better  than  our  present  employment  ;  and 
even  those  who  school  themselves  most  relig- 
iously in  the  virtue  of  contentment  know  very 
well  how  to  define  that  grace  so  as  not  to  ex- 


102  IN   THE    WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

elude  from  it  a  comfortable  mixture  of  "  divine 
dissatisfaction."  Well  for  us  if  we  are  still 
able  to  stand  in  our  place  and  do  faithfully  our 
allotted  task,  like  the  mountain  spruces  and  the 
Bethlehemite  road-mender. 


PHILLIDA  AND  CORIDON. 


Fierce  warres  and  faithful  loves  shall  moralize  my  song. 

SPENSER. 

Much  ado  there  was,  God  wot : 
He  would  love,  and  she  would  not. 

NICHOLAS  BRETON. 


PHILLIDA  AND  CORIDON. 


THE  happiness  of  birds,  heretofore  taken  for 
granted,  and  long  ago  put  to  service  in  a  prov- 
erb, is  in  these  last  days  made  a  matter  of 
doubt.  It  transpires  that  they  are  engaged 
without  respite  in  a  struggle  for  existence,  —  a 
struggle  so  fierce  that  at  least  two  of  them  per- 
ish every  year  for  one  that  survives.1  How, 
then,  can  they  be  otherwise  than  miserable  ? 

There  is  no  denying  the  struggle,  of  course  ; 
nor  need  we  question  some  real  effect  produced 
~by  it  upon  the  cheerfulness  of  the  participants. 
The  more  rationalistic  of  the  smaller  species, 
we  may  be  sure,  find  it  hard  to  reconcile  the 
existence  of  hawks  and  owls  with  the  doctrine 
of  an  all- wise  Providence  ;  while  even  the  most 
simple-minded  of  them  can  scarcely  fail  to  real- 
ize that  a  world  in  which  one  is  liable  any  day 
to  be  pursued  by  a  boy  with  a  shot-gun  is  not 
in  any  strict  sense  paradisiacal. 

And  yet,  who  knows  the  heart  of  a  bird?    A 

1  Wallace,  Natural  Selection,  p.  30. 


106  PHILLIDA  AND   COR  I  DON. 

child,  possibly,  or  a  poet ;  certainly  not  a  phi- 
losopher. And  happiness,  too,  —  is  that  some- 
thing of  which  the  scientific  mind  can  render 
us  a  quite  adequate  description  ?  Or  is  it, 
rather,  a  wayward,  mysterious  thing,  coming 
often  when  least  expected,  and  going  away 
again  when,  by  all  tokens,  it  ought  to  remain? 
How  is  it  with  ourselves  ?  Do  we  wait  to 
weigh  all  the  good  and  evil  of  our  state,  to  take 
an  accurate  account  of  it  pro  and  con,  before 
we  allow  ourselves  to  be  glad  or  sorry  ?  Not 
many  of  us,  I  think.  Mortuary  tables  may 
demonstrate  that  half  the  children  born  in  this 
country  fail  to  reach  the  age  of  twenty  years. 
But  what  then  ?  Our  "  expectation  of  life  "  is 
not  based  upon  statistics.  The  tables  may  be 
correct,  for  aught  we  know  ;  but  they  deal  with 
men  in  general  and  on  the  average ;  they  have 
no  message  for  you  and  me  individually.  And 
it  seems  not  unlikely  that  birds  may  be  equally 
illogical ;  always  expecting  to  live,  and  not  die, 
and  often  giving  themselves  up  to  impulses  of 
gladness  without  stopping  to  inquire  whether, 
on  grounds  of  absolute  reason,  these  impulses 
are  to  be  justified.  Let  us  hope  so,  at  all  events, 
till  somebody  proves  the  contrary. 

But  even  looking  at  the  subject  a  little  more 
philosophically,  we  may  say — and  be  thankful 
to  say  it —  that  the  joy  of  life  is  not  dependent 


PHILLIDA  AND   CORIDON.  107 

upon  comfort,  nor  yet  upon  safety.  The  essen- 
tial matter  is  that  the  heart  be  engaged.  Then, 
though  we  be  toiling  up  the  Matterhorn,  or 
swept  along  in  the  rush  of  a  bayonet  charge, 
we  may  still  find  existence  not  only  endurable, 
but  in  the  highest  degree  exhilarating.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  there  is  no  longer  anything 
we  care  for ;  if  enthusiasm  is  dead,  and  hope 
also,  then,  though  we  have  all  that  money  can 
buy,  suicide  is  perhaps  the  only  fitting  action 
that  is  left  for  us,  —  unless,  perchance,  we  are 
still  able  to  pass  the  time  in  writing  treatises  to 
prove  that  everybody  else  ought  to  be  as  un- 
happy as  ourselves. 

Birds  have  many  enemies  and  their  full  share 
of  privation,  but  I  do  not  believe  that  they  of- 
ten suffer  from  ennui.  Having  "  neither  store- 
house nor  barn,"  l  they  are  never  in  want  of 
something  to  do.  From  sunrise  till  noon  there 
is  the  getting  of  breakfast,  then  from  noon  till 
sunset  the  getting  of  dinner,  —  both  out-of- 
doors,  and  without  any  trouble  of  cookery  or 
dishes,  —  a  kind  of  perpetual  picnic.  What 

1  The  shrike  lays  up  grasshoppers  and  sparrows,  and  the  Cali- 
fornia woodpecker  hoards  great  numbers  of  acorns,  but  it  is  still 
in  dispute,  I  believe,  whether  thrift  is  the  motive  with  either  of 
them.  Considering  what  has  often  'been  done  in  similar  cases,  we 
may  think  it  surprising  that  the  Scripture  text  above  quoted  (to- 
gether with  its  exegetical  parallel,  Matthew  vi.  26)  has  never  been 
brought  into  court  to  settle  the  controversy;  but  to  the  best  of  my 
knowledge  it  never  has  been. 


108  PHILLIDA  AND   CORIDON. 

could  be  simpler  or  more  delightful  ?  Carried 
on  in  this  way,  eating  is  no  longer  the  coarse 
and  sensual  thing  we  make  it,  with  our  set 
meal-times  and  elaborate  preparations. 

Country  children  know  that  there  are  two 
ways  to  go  berrying.  According  to  the  first 
of  these  you  stroll  into  the  pasture  in  the  cool 
of  the  day,  and  at  your  leisure  pick  as  many  as 
you  choose  of  the  ripest  and  largest  of  the  ber- 
ries, putting  every  one  into  your  mouth.  This 
is  agreeable.  According  to  the  second,  you 
carry  a  basket,  which  you  are  expected  to  bring 
home  again  well  filled.  And  this  method  — 
well,  tastes  will  differ,  but  following  the  good 
old  rule  for  judging  in  such  cases,  I  must  be- 
lieve that  most  unsophisticated  persons  prefer 
the  other.  The  hand-to-mouth  process  cer- 
tainly agrees  best  with  our  idea  of  life  in  Eden  ; 
and,  what  is  more  to  the  purpose  now,  it  is  the 
one  which  the  birds,  still  keeping  the  garden 
instead  of  tilling  the  ground,  continue  to  follow. 

That  this  unworldliness  of  the  birds  has  any 
religious  or  theological  significance  I  do  not 
myself  suppose.  Still,  as  anybody  may  see, 
there  are  certain  very  plain  Scripture  texts  on 
their  side.  Indeed,  if  birds  were  only  acute 
theologians,  they  would  unquestionably  proceed 
to  turn  these  texts  (since  they  find  it  so  easy  to 
obey  them)  into  the  basis  of  a  "  system  of 


PH1LLIDA   AND   CORIDON.  109 

truth."  Other  parts  of  the  Bible  must  be  in- 
terpreted,  to  be  sure  (so  the  theory  would  run)  ; 
but  these  statements  mean  just  what  they  say, 
and  whoever  meddles  with  them  is  carnally 
minded  and  a  rationalist. 

Somebody  will  object,  perhaps,  that,  with 
our  talk  about  a  "  perpetual  picnic,"  we  are 
making  a  bird's  life  one  cloudless  holiday  ;  con- 
tradicting what  we  have  before  admitted  about 
a  struggle  for  existence,  and  leaving  out  of 
sight  altogether  the  seasons  of  scarcity,  the 
storms,  and  the  biting  cold.  But  we  intend  no 
such  foolish  recantation.  These  hardships  are 
real  enough,  and  serious  enough.  What  we 
maintain  is  that  evils  of  this  kind  are  not  nec- 
essarily inconsistent  with  enjoyment,  and  may 
even  give  to  life  an  additional  zest.  It  is  a 
matter  of  every-day  observation  that  the  peo- 
ple who  have  nothing  to  do  except  to  "  live 
well "  (as  the  common  sarcasm  has  it)  are  not 
always  the  most  cheerful  ;  while  there  are 
certain  diseases,  like  pessimism  and  the  gout, 
which  seem  appointed  to  wait  on  luxury  and 
idleness,  —  as  though  nature  were  determined 
to  have  the  scales  kept  somewhat  even.  And 
surely  this  divine  law  of  compensation  has  not 
left  the  innocent  birds  unprovided  for,  —  the 
innocent  birds  of  whom  it  was  said,  "  Your 
heavenly  Father  feedeth  them."  How  must 


110  PH1LLIDA  AND   COR1DON. 

the  devoted  pair  exult,  when,  in  spite  of  owls 
and  hawks,  squirrels  and  weasels,  small  boys 
and  full  -  grown  oologists,  they  have  finally 
reared  a  brood  of  offspring  !  The  long  uncer- 
tainty and  the  thousand  perils  only  intensify 
the  joy.  In  truth,  so  far  as  this  world  is  con- 
cerned, the  highest  bliss  is  never  to  be  had 
without  antecedent  sorrow ;  and  even  of  heaven 
itself  we  may  not  scruple  to  say  that,  if  there 
are  painters  there,  they  probably  feel  obliged 
to  put  some  shadows  into  their  pictures. 

But  of  course  (and  this  is  what  we  have  been 
coming  to  through  this  long  introduction),  —  of 
course  our  friends  of  the  air  are  happiest  in  the 
season  of  mating  ;  happiest,  and  therefore  most 
attractive  to  us  who  find  our  pleasure  in  study- 
ing them.  In  spring,  of  all  times  of  the  year, 
it  seems  a  pity  that  everybody  should  not  turn 
ornithologist.  For  "  all  mankind  love  a  lover;  " 
and  the  world,  in  consequence,  has  given  itself 
up  to  novel  -  reading,  not  knowing,  unfortu- 
nately, how  much  better  that  rdle  is  taken  by 
the  birds  than  by  the  common  run  of  story- 
book heroes. 

People  whose  notions  of  the  subject  are  de- 
rived from  attending  to  the  antics  of  our  im- 
ported sparrows  have  no  idea  how  delicate  and 
beautiful  a  thing  a  real  feathered  courtship  is. 
To  tell  the  truth,  these  foreigners  have  asso- 


PHILLIDA   AND   CORIDON.  Ill 

ciated  too  long  and  too  intimately  with  men, 
and  have  fallen  far  away  from  their  primal  in- 
nocence. There  is  no  need  to  describe  their 
actions.  The  vociferous  and  most  unmannerly 
importunity  of  the  suitor,  and  the  correspond- 
ingly spiteful  rejection  of  his  overtures  by  the 
little  vixen  on  whom  his  affections  are  for  the 
moment  placed,  —  these  we  have  all  seen  to 
our  hearts'  discontent. 

The  sparrow  will  not  have  been  brought  over 
the  sea  for  nothing,  however,  if  his  bad  behavior 
serves  to  heighten  our  appreciation  of  our  own 
native  songsters,  with  their  "  perfect  virtues " 
and  "  manners  for  the  heart's  delight." 

The  American  robin,  for  instance,  is  far  from 
being  a  bird  of  exceptional  refinement.  His 
nest  is  rude,  not  to  say  slovenly,  and  his  gen- 
eral deportment  is  unmistakably  common.  But 
watch  him  when  he  goes  a-wooing,  arid  you  will 
begin  to  feel  quite  a  new  respect  for  him.  How 
gently  he  approaches  his  beloved  !  How  care- 
fully he  avoids  ever  coming  disrespectfully  near  ! 
No  sparrow-like  screaming,  no  dancing  about, 
no  melodramatic  gesticulation.  li:  she  moves 
from  one  side  of  the  tree  to  the  other,  or  to  the 
tree  adjoining,  he  follows  in  silence.  Yet  every 
movement  is  a  petition,  an  assurance  that  his 
heart  is  hers  and  ever  must  be.  The  action  is 
extremely  simple  ;  there  is  nothing  of  which  to 


112  PHILLIDA  AND   CORIDON. 

make  an  eloquent  description ;  but  I  should 
pity  the  man  who  could  witness  it  with  indiffer- 
ence. Not  that  the  robin's  suit  is  always  car- 
ried on  in  the  same  way  ;  he  is  much  too  versa- 
tile for  that.  On  one  occasion,  at  least,  I  saw 
him  holding  himself  absolutely  motionless,  in  a 
horizontal  posture,  staring  at  his  sweetheart  as 
if  he  would  charm  her  with  his  gaze,  and  emit- 
ting all  the  while  a  subdued  hissing  sound.  The 
significance  of  this  conduct  I  do  not  profess  to 
have  understood ;  it  ended  with  his  suddenly 
darting  at  the  female,  who  took  wing  and  was 
pursued.  Not  improbably  the  robin  finds  the 
feminine  nature  somewhat  fickle,  and  counts  it 
expedient  to  vary  his  tactics  accordingly ;  for 
it  is  getting  to  be  more  and  more  believed  that, 
in  kind  at  least,  the  intelligence  of  the  lower 
animals  is  not  different  from  ours. 

I  once  came  unexpectedly  upon  a  wood 
thrush,  who  was  in  the  midst  of  a  perform- 
ance very  similar  to  this  of  the  robin  ;  standing 
on  the  dead  branch  of  a  tree,  with  his  crown 
feathers  erect,  his  bill  set  wide  open,  and  his 
whole  body  looking  as  rigid  as  death.  His 
mate,  as  I  perceived  the  next  moment,  was 
not  far  away,  on  the  same  limb.  If  he  was  at- 
tempting fascination,  he  had  gone  very  clumsily 
about  it,  I  thought,  unless  his  mate's  idea  of 
beauty  was  totally  different  from  mine ;  for  I 


PHILLIDA  AND  CORIDON.  113 

could  hardly  keep  from  laughing  at  his  absurd 
appearance.  It  did  not  occur  to  me  till  after- 
wards that  he  had  perhaps  heard  of  Othello's 
method,  and  was  at  that  moment  acting  out  a 
story 

"of  most  disastrous  chances, 
Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field, 
Of  hair-breadth  scapes  i'  the  imminent  deadly  breach, 
Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe 
And  sold  to  slavery." 

How  much  depends  upon  the  point  of  view ! 
Here  was  I,  ready  to  laugh  ;  while  poor  Desde- 
mona  only  thought,  "  'T  was  pitiful,  't  was  won- 
drous pitiful."  Dear  sympathetic  soul !  Let 
us  hope  that  she  was  never  called  to  play  out 
the  tragedy. 

Two  things  are  very  noticeable  during  the 
pairing  season,  —  the  scarcity  of  females  and 
their  indifference.  Every  one  of  them  seems 
to  have  at  least  two  admirers  dangling  after 
her,1  while  she  is  almost  sure  to  carry  herself 
as  if  a  wedding  were  the  last  thing  she  would 
ever  consent  to  think  of ;  and  that  not  because 
of  bashfulness,  but  from  downright  aversion. 
The  observer  begins  to  suspect  that  the  fair 
creatures  have  really  entered  into  some  sort  of 
no-marriage  league,  and  that  there  are  not  to 

1  So  near  do  birds  come  to  Mr.  Raskin's  idea  that  "  a  girl  worth 
anything  ought  to  have  always  half  a  dozen  or  so  of  suitors  under 
vow  for  her." 

8 


114  PHILLIDA   AND   CORIDON. 

be  any  nests  this  year,  nor  any  young  birds. 
But  by  and  by  he  discovers  that  somehow,  he 
cannot  surmise  how,  —  it  must  have  been  when 
his  eyes  were  turned  the  other  way,  —  the  scene 
is  entirely  changed,  the  maidens  are  all  wedded, 
and  even  now  the  nests  are  being  got  ready. 

I  watched  a  trio  of  cat-birds  in  a  clump  of 
alder  bushes  by  the  roadside  ;  two  males,  almost 
as  a  matter  of  course,  "  paying  attentions  "  to 
one  female.  Both  suitors  were  evidently  in 
earnest ;  each  hoped  to  carry  off  the  prize,  and 
perhaps  felt  that  he  should  be  miserable  for- 
ever if  he  were  disappointed  ;  and  yet,  on  their 
part,  everything  was  being  done  decently  and 
in  order.  So  far  as  I  saw,  there  was  no  dispo- 
sition to  quarrel.  Only  let  the  dear  creature 
choose  one  of  them,  and  the  other  would  take 
his  broken  heart  away.  So,  always  at  a  modest 
remove,  they  followed  her  about  from  bush  to 
bush,  entreating  her  in  most  loving  and  persua- 
sive tones  to  listen  to  their  suit.  But  she,  all 
this  time,  answered  every  approach  with  a 
snarl ;  she  would  never  have  anything  to  do 
with  either  of  them ;  she  disliked  them  both, 
and  only  wished  they  would  leave  her  .to  her- 
self. This  lasted  as  long  as  I  stayed  to  watch. 
Still  I  had  little  doubt  she  fully  intended  to 
accept  one  of  them,  and  had  even  made  up  her 
mind  already  which  it  should  be.  She  knew 


PH1LLIDA  AND  CORIDON.  115 

enough,  I  felt  sure,  to  calculate  the  value  of  a 
proper  maidenly  reluctance.  How  could  her 
mate  be  expected  to  rate  her  at  her  worth,  if 
she  allowed  herself  to  be  won  too  easily  ?  Be- 
sides, she  could  afford  not  to  be  in  haste,  seeing 
she  had  a  choice  of  two. 

What  a  comfortably  simple  affair  the  matri- 
monial question  is  with  the  feminine  cat-bird ! 
Her  wooers  are  all  of  equally  good  family  and 
all  equally  rich.  There  is  literally  nothing  for 
her  to  do  but  to  look  into  her  own  heart  and 
choose.  No  temptation  has  she  to  sell  herself 
for  the  sake  of  a  fashionable  name  or  a  fine 
house,  or  in  order  to  gratify  the  prejudice  of 
father  or  mother.  As  for  a  marriage  settle- 
ment, she  knows  neither  the  name  nor  the 
thing.  In  fact,  marriage  in  her  thought  is  a 
simple  union  of  hearts,  with  no  taint  of  any- 
thing mercantile  about  it.  Happy  cat-bird ! 
She  perhaps  imagines  that  human  marriages 
are  of  the  same  ideal  sort ! 

I  have  spoken  of  the  affectionate  language  of 
these  dusky  lovers ;  but  it  was  noticeable  that 
they  did  not  sing,  although,  to  have  fulfilled 
the  common  idea  of  such  an  affair,  they  cer- 
tainly should  have  been  doing  so,  and  each  try- 
ing his  best  to  outsing  the  other.  Possibly 
there  had  already  been  such  a  tournament  be- 
fore my  arrival ;  or,  for  aught  I  know,  this 


116  PHILLIDA  AND   CORIDON. 

particular  female  may  have  given  out  that  she 
had  no  ear  for  music. 

In  point  of  fact,  however,  there  was  nothing 
peculiar  in  their  conduct.  No  doubt,  in  the 
earlier  stages  of  a  bird's  attachment  he  is  likely 
to  express  his  passion  musically ;  but  later  he 
is  not  content  to  warble  from  a  tree-top.  There 
are  things  to  be  said  which  cannot  appropri- 
ately be  spoken  at  long  range ;  and  unless  my 
study  of  novels  has  been  to  little  purpose,  all 
this  agrees  well  with  the  practices  of  human 
gallants.  Do  not  these  begin  by  singing  under 
the  lady's  window,  or  by  sending  verses  to  her? 
and  are  not  such  proceedings  intended  to  pre- 
pare the  way,  as  speedily  as  possible,  for  others 
of  a  more  satisfying,  though  it  may  be  of  a  less 
romantic  nature  ? 

Bearing  this  in  mind,  we  may  be  able  to  ac- 
count, in  part  at  least,  for  the  inexperienced 
observer's  disappointment  when,  fresh  from  the 
perusal  of  (for  example)  the  thirteenth  chapter 
of  Darwin's  "  Descent  of  Man,"  he  goes  into 
the  woods  to  look  about  for  himself.  He  ex- 
pects to  find  here  and  there  two  or  three  song- 
sters, each  in  turn  doing  his  utmost  to  surpass 
the  brilliancy  and  power  of  the  other's  music ; 
while  a  feminine  auditor  sits  in  full  view,  pre- 
paring to  render  her  verdict,  and  reward  the 
successful  competitor  with  her  own  precious 


PHILLIDA  AND  CORIDON.  117 

self.  This  would  be  a  pretty  picture.  Unfor- 
tunately, it  is  looked  for  in  vain.  The  two  or 
three  singers  may  be  found,  likely  enough  ;  but 
the  female,  if  she  be  indeed  within  hearing,  is 
modestly  hidden  away  somewhere  in  the  bushes, 
and  our  student  is  none  the  wiser.  Let  him 
watch  as  long  as  he  please,  he  will  hardly  see 
the  prize  awarded. 

Nevertheless  he  need  not  grudge  the  time 
thus  employed ;  not,  at  any  rate,  if  he  be  sensi- 
tive to  music.  For  it  will  be  found  that  birds 
have  at  least  one  attribute  of  genius  :  they  can 
do  their  best  only  on  great  occasions.  Our 
brown  thrush,  for  instance,  is  a  magnificent 
singer,  albeit  he  is  not  of  the  best  school,  be- 
ing too  "  sensational "  to  suit  the  most  exacting 
taste.  His  song  is  a  grand  improvisation  :  a 
good  deal  jumbled,  to  be  sure,  and  without  any 
recognizable  form  or  theme  ;  and  yet,  like  a 
Liszt  rhapsody,  it  perfectly  answers  its  purpose, 
—  that  is,  it  gives  the  performer  full  scope  to 
show  what  he  can  do  with  his  instrument.  You 
may  laugh  a  little,  if  you  like,  at  an  occasional 
grotesque  or  overwrought  passage,  but  unless 
you  are  well  used  to  it  you  will  surely  be  aston- 
ished. Such  power  and  range  of  voice ;  such 
startling  transitions  ;  such  endless  variety !  And 
withal  such  boundless  enthusiasm  and  almost 
incredible  endurance!  Regarded  as  pure  mu- 


118  PHILLIDA  AND   COR1DON. 

sic,  one  strain  of  the  hermit  thrush  is  to  my 
mind  worth  the  whole  of  it;  just  as  a  single 
movement  of  Beethoven's  is  better  than  a  world 
of  Liszt  transcriptions.  But  in  its  own  way  it 
is  unsurpassable. 

Still,  though  this  is  a  meagre  and  quite  un- 
exaggerated  account  of  the  ordinary  song  of  the 
brown  thrush,  I  have  discovered  that  even  he 
can  be  outdone  —  by  himself.  One  morning 
in  early  May  I  came  upon  three  birds  of  this 
species,  all  singing  at  once,  in  a  kind  of  jealous 
frenzy.  As  they  sang  they  continually  shifted 
from  tree  to  tree,  and  one  in  particular  (the 
one  nearest  to  where  I  stood)  could  hardly  be 
quiet  a  moment.  Once  he  sang  with  full  power 
while  on  the  ground  (or  close  to  it,  for  he  was 
just  then  behind  a  low  bush),  after  which  he 
mounted  to  the  very  tip  of  a  tall  pine,  which 
bent  beneath  his  weight.  In  the  midst  of  the 
hurly-burly  one  of  the  trio  suddenly  sounded 
the  whip-poor-will's  call  twice,  —  an  absolutely 
perfect  reproduction.1 

The  significance  of  all  this  sound  and  fury, 
—  what  the  prize  was,  if  any,  and  who  obtained 

1  "  That's  the  wise  thrush:  he  sings  each  song  twice  over, 
Lest  you  should  think  he  never  could  recapture 
The  first  fine  careless  rapture!  " 

The  "authorities"  long  since  forbade  Harporhynchus  rufus  to 
play  the  mimic.  Probably  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  this 
fellow  forgot  himself. 


PHILLIDA  AND  CORIDON.  119 

it,  —  this  another  can  conjecture  as  well  as  my- 
self.    I  know  no  more  than  old  Kaspar :  — 

44  '  Why,  that  I  cannot  tell,'  said  he, 
*  But 't  was  a  famous  victory.'  " 

As  I  turned  to  come  away,  the  contest  all  at 
once  ceased,  and  the  silence  of  the  woods,  or 
what  seemed  like  silence,  was  really  impressive. 
The  chewinks  and  field  sparrows  were  singing, 
but  it  was  like  the  music  of  a  village  singer 
after  Patti ;  or,  to  make  the  comparison  less 
unjust,  like  the  Pastoral  Symphony  of  Handel 
after  a  Wagner  tempest. 

It  is  curious  how  deeply  we  are  sometimes 
affected  by  a  very  trifling  occurrence.  I  have 
remembered  many  times  a  slight  scene  in  which 
three  purple  finches  were  the  actors.  Of  the 
two  males,  one  was  in  full  adult  plumage  of 
bright  crimson,  while  the  other  still  wore  his 
youthful  suit  of  brown.  First,  the  older  bird 
suspended  himself  in  mid  air,  and  sang  most 
beautifully  ;  dropping,  as  he  concluded,  to  a 
perch  beside  the  female.  Then  the  younger 
candidate,  who  was  already  sitting  near  by, 
took  his  turn,  singing  nearly  or  quite  as  well 
as  his  rival,  but  without  quitting  the  branch, 
though  his  wings  quivered.  I  saw  no  more. 
Yet,  as  I  say,  I  have  often  since  thought  of  the 
three  birds,  arid  wondered  whether  the  bright, 
feathers  and  the  flying  song  carried  the  day 


120  PHILLIDA  AND  COR1DON. 

against  the  younger  suitor.  I  fear  they  did. 
Sometimes,  too,  I  have  queried  whether  young 
birds  (who  none  the  less  are  of  age  to  marry) 
can  be  so  very  meek  or  so  very  dull  as  never  to 
rebel  against  the  fashion  that  only  the  old  fel- 
lows shall  dress  handsomely  ;  and  I  have  tried 
in  vain  to  imagine  the  mutterings,  deep  and 
loud,  which  such  a  law  would  excite  in  certain 
other  quarters.  It  pains  me  to  say  it,  but  I 
suspect  that  taxation  without  representation 
would  seem  a  small  injustice,  in  comparison. 

Like  these  linnets  in  the  exceptional  interest 
they  excited  were  two  large  seabirds,  who  sud- 
denly appeared  circling  about  over  the  woods, 
as  I  was  taking  a  solitary  walk  on  a  Sunday 
morning  in  April.  One  of  them  was  closely 
pursuing  the  other ;  not  as  though  he  were  try- 
ing to  overtake  her,  but  rather  as  though  he 
were  determined  to  keep  her  company.  They 
swept  now  this  way,  now  that,  —  now  lost  to 
sight,  and  now  reappearing ;  and  once  they 
passed  straight  over  my  head,  so  that  I  heard 
the  whistling  of  their  wings.  Then  they  were 
off,  and  I  saw  them  no  more.  They  came  from 
far,  and  by  night  they  were  perhaps  a  hundred 
leagues  away.  But  I  followed  them  with  my 
blessing,  and  to  this  day  I  feel  toward  them  a 
little  as  I  suppose  we  all  do  toward  a  certain 
few  strangers  whom  we  have  met  here  and 


PHILLIDA  AND  CORIDON.  121 

there  in  our  journey  ings,  and  chatted  with  for 
an  hour  or  two.  We  had  never  seen  them  be- 
fore ;  if  we  learned  their  names  we  have  long 
ago  forgotten  them ;  but  somehow  the  persons 
themselves  keep  a  place  in  our  memory,  and 
even  in  our  affection. 

"  I  crossed  a  moor,  with  a  name  of  its  own 
And  a  certain  use  in  the  world,  no  doubt ; 
Yet  a  hand's  breadth  of  it  shines  alone 
'Mid  the  blank  miles  round  about: 

"  For  there  I  picked  up  on  the  heather, 
And  there  I  put  inside  my  breast, 
A  moulted  feather,  an  eagle-feather  ! 
Well,  I  forget  the  rest." 

Since  we  cannot  ask  birds  for  an  explanation 
of  their  conduct,  we  have  nothing  for  it  but  to 
steal  their  secrets,  as  far  as  possible,  by  patient 
and  stealthy  watching.  In  this  way  I  hope, 
sooner  or  later,  to  find  out  what  the  golden- 
winged  woodpecker  means  by  the  shout  with 
which  he  makes  the  fields  reecho  in  the  spring, 
especially  in  the  latter  half  of  April.  I  have 
no  doubt  it  has  something  to  do  with  the  proc- 
ess of  mating,  but  it  puzzles  me  to  guess  just 
what  the  message  can  be  which  requires  to  be 
published  so  loudly.  Such  a  stentorian,  long- 
winded  cry  !  You  wonder  where  the  bird  finds 
breath  for  such  an  effort,  and  think  he  must  be 
a  very  ungentle  lover,  surely.  But  withhold 
your  judgment  for  a  few  days,  till  you  see  him 


122  PHILLIDA  AND   CORIDON. 

and  bis  mate  gamboling  about  the  branches  of 
some  old  tree,  calling  in  soft,  affectionate  tones, 
Wick-a-wick,  wick-a-wick ;  then  you  will  con- 
fess that,  whatever  failings  the  golden-wing 
may  have,  he  is  not  to  be  charged  with  insensi- 
bility. The  fact  is  that  our  "  yellow-hammer  " 
has  a  genius  for  noise.  When  he  is  very  happy 
he  drums.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  marvels  how 
birds  who  haven't  this  resource  are  able  to  get 
through  the  world  at  all.  Nor  ought  we  to 
think  it  strange  if  in  his  love-making  he  finds 
great  use  for  this  his  crowning  accomplishment. 
True,  we  have  nowhere  read  of  a  human  lover's 
serenading  his  mistress  with  a  drum  ;  but  we 
must  remember  what  creatures  of  convention 
men  are,  and  that  there  is  no  inherent  reason 
why  a  drum  should  not  serve  as  well  as  a  flute 
for  such  a  purpose. 

"  All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights, 
Whatever  stirs  this  mortal  frame, 
All  are  but  ministers  of  Love, 
And  feed  his  sacred  flame." 

I  saw  two  of  these  flickers  clinging  to  the 
trunk  of  a  shell-bark  tree ;  which,  by  the  way, 
is  a  tree  after  the  woodpecker's  own  heart. 
One  was  perhaps  fifteen  feet  above  the  other, 
and  before  each  was  a  strip  of  loose  bark,  a  sort 
of  natural  drum -head.  First,  the  lower  one 
"beat  his  music  out,"  rather  softly.  Then, 


PHILLIDA  AND   CORIDON.  123 

as  he  ceased,  and  held  his  head  back  to  listen, 
the  other  answered  him;  and  so  the  dialogue 
went  on.  Evidently,  they  were  already  mated, 
and  were  now  renewing  their  mutual  vows ; 
for  birds,  to  their  praise  be  it  spoken,  believe 
in  courtship  after  marriage.  The  day  happened 
to  be  Sunday,  and  it  did  occur  to  me  that  pos- 
sibly this  was  the  woodpeckers'  ritual,  —  a  kind 
of  High  Church  service,  with  antiphonal  choirs. 
But  I  dismissed  the  thought ;  for,  on  the  whole, 
the  shouting  seems  more  likely  to  be  diagnos- 
tic, and  in  spite  of  his  gold-lined  wings,  I  have 
set  the  flicker  down  as  almost  certainly  an  old- 
fashioned  Methodist. 

Speaking  of  courtship  after  marriage,  I  am 
reminded  of  a  spotted  sandpiper,  whose  capers 
I  amused  myself  with  watching,  one  day  last 
June,  on  the  shore  of  Saco  Lake.  As  I  caught 
sight  of  him,  he  was  straightening  himself  up, 
with  a  pretty,  self-conscious  air,  at  the  same 
time  spreading  his  white-edged  tail,  and  calling, 
Tweet,  tiveet,  tweet.1  Afterwards  he  got  upon 
a  log,  where,  with  head  erect  and  wings  thrown 
forward  and  downward,  he  ran  for  a  yard  or 
two,  calling  as  before.  This  trick  seemed  es- 

1  May  one  who  knows  nothing  of  philology  venture  to  inquire 
whether  the  very  close  agreement  of  this  tweet  with  our  sweet 
(compare  also  the  Anglo-Saxon  swete,  the  Icelandic  scetr,  and  the 
Sanskrit  svad)  does  not  point  to  a  common  origin  of  the  Aryan 
and  sandpiper  languages  ? 


124  PHILL1DA  AND   COR1DON. 

pecially  to  please  him,  and  was  several  times 
repeated.  He  ran  rapidly,  and  with  a  comical 
prancing  movement ;  but  nothing  he  did  was 
half  so  laughable  as  the  behavior  of  his  mate, 
who  all  this  while  dressed  her  feathers  without 
once  deigning  to  look  at  her  spouse's  perform- 
ance. Undoubtedly  they  had  been  married  for 
several  weeks,  and  she  was,  by  this  time,  well 
used  to  his  nonsense.  It  must  be  a  devoted 
husband,  I  fancy,  who  continues  to  offer  atten- 
tions when  they  are  received  in  such  a  spirit. 

Walking  a  log  is  a  somewhat  common  prac- 
tice with  birds.  I  once  detected  our  little  golden- 
crowned  thrush  showing  off  in  this  way  to  his 
mate,  who  stood  on  the  ground  close  at  hand. 
In  his  case  the  head  was  lowered  instead  of 
raised,  and  the  general  effect  was  heightened  by 
his  curiously  precise  gait,  which  even  on  ordi- 
nary occasions  is  enough  to  provoke  a  smile. 

Not  improbably  every  species  of  birds  has  its 
own  code  of  etiquette  ;  unwritten,  of  course,  but 
carefully  handed  down  from  father  to  son,  and 
faithfully  observed  Nor  is  it  cause  for  wonder 
if,  in  our  ignorant  eyes,  some  of  these  "  society 
manners "  look  a  little  ridiculous.  Even  the 
usages  of  fashionable  human  circles  have  not 
always  escaped  the  laughter  of  the  profane. 

I  was  standing  on  the  edge  of  a  small  thicket, 
observing  a  pair  of  cuckoos  as  they  made  a  break- 


PHILL1DA  AND   CORIDON.  125 

fast  out  of  a  nest  of  tent  caterpillars  (it  was  a 
feast  rather  than  a  common  meal ;  for  the  cat- 
erpillars were  plentiful,  and,  as  I  judged,  just 
at  their  best,  being  about  half  grown),  when  a 
couple  of  scarlet  tanagers  appeared  upon  the 
scene.  The  female  presently  selected  a  fine  strip 
of  cedar  bark,  and  started  off  with  it,  sounding 
a  call  to  her  handsome  husband,  who  at  once 
followed  in  her  wake.  I  thought,  What  a  brute, 
to  leave  his  wife  to  build  the  house  !  But  he, 
plainly  enough,  felt  that  in  escorting  her  back 
and  forth  he  was  doing  all  that  ought  to  be  ex- 
pected of  any  well-bred,  scarlet-coated  tanager. 
And  the  lady  herself,  if  one  might  infer  any- 
thing from  her  tone  and  demeanor,  was  of  the 
same  opinion.  I  mention  this  trifling  occurrence, 
not  to  put  any  slight  uponPyranga  rubra  (who 
am  I,  that  I  should  accuse  so  gentle  and  well 
dressed  a  bird  of  bad  manners  ?),  but  merely  as 
an  example  of  the  way  in  which  feathered  polite- 
ness varies.  In  fact,  it  seems  not  unlikely  that 
the  male  tanager  may  abstain  on  principle  from 
taking  any  active  part  in  constructing  the  nest, 
lest  his  fiery  color  should  betray  its  whereabouts. 
As  for  his  kindness  and  loyalty,  I  only  wish  I 
could  feel  as  sure  of  one  half  the  human  hus- 
bands whom  I  meet. 

It  would  be  very  ungallant  of  me,  however,  to 
leave  my  readers  to  understand  that  the  female 


126  PHILLIDA  AND  CORIDON. 

bird  is  always  so  unsympathetic  as  most  of  the 
descriptions  thus  far  given  would  appear  to  in- 
dicate. In  my  memory  are  several  scenes,  any 
one  of  which,  if  I  could  put  it  on  paper  as  I  saw 
it,  would  suffice  to  correct  such  an  erroneous 
impression.  In  one  of  these  the  parties  were  a 
pair  of  chipping  sparrows.  Never  was  man  so 
churlish  that  his  heart  would  not  have  been 
touched  with  the  vision  of  their  gentle  but  rap- 
turous delight.  As  they  chased  each  other 
gayly  from  branch  to  branch  and  from  tree  to 
tree,  they  flew  with  that  delicate,  affected  move- 
ment of  the  wings  which  birds  are  accustomed 
to  use  at  such  times,  and  which,  perhaps,  bears 
the  same  relation  to  their  ordinary  flight  that 
dancing  does  to  the  every-day  walk  of  men  and 
women.  The  two  seemed  equally  enchanted, 
and  both  sang.  Little  they  knew  of  the  "  strug- 
gle for  existence  "  and  the  "  survival  of  the 
fittest."  Adam  and  Eve,  in  Paradise,  were  never 
more  happy. 

A  few  weeks  later,  taking  an  evening  walk, 
I  was  stopped  by  the  sight  of  a  pair  of  cedar- 
birds  on  a  stone  wall.  They  had  chosen  a  con- 
venient flat  stone,  and  were  hopping  about  upon 
it,  pausing  every  moment  or  two  to  put  their 
little  bills  together.  What  a  loving  ecstasy  pos- 
sessed them !  Sometimes  one,  sometimes  the 
other,  sounded  a  faint  lisping  note,  and  motioned 


PHILL1DA  AND   CORIDON.  127 

for  another  kiss.  Bat  there  is  no  setting  forth 
the  ineffable  grace  and  sweetness  of  their  chaste 
behavior.  I  looked  and  looked,  till  a  passing 
carriage  frightened  them  away.  They  were 
only  common  cedar-birds  ;  if  I  were  to  see  them 
again  I  should  not  know  them ;  but  if  my  pen 
were  equal  to  my  wish,  they  should  be  made 
immortal. 


SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE. 


A  man  that  hath  friends  must  show  himself  friendly. 

PROVERBS  xviii.  24. 


SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE. 


As  I  was  crossing  Boston  Common,  some 
years  ago,  my  attention  was  caught  by  the  un- 
usual behavior  of  a  robin,  who  wa,s  standing  on 
the  lawn,  absolutely  motionless,  and  every  few 
seconds  making  a  faint  hissing  noise.  So  much 
engaged  was  he  that,  even  when  a  dog  ran  near 
him,  he  only  started  slightly,  and  on  the  instant 
resumed  his  statue-like  attitude.  Wondering 
what  this  could  mean,  and  not  knowing  how 
else  to  satisfy  my  curiosity,  I  bethought  myself 
of  a  man  whose  letters  about  birds  I  had  now 
and  then  noticed  in  the  daily  press.  So,  look- 
ing up  his  name  in  the  City  Directory,  and  find- 
ing that  he  lived  at  such  a  number,  Beacon 
Street,  I  wrote  him  a  note  of  inquiry.  He  must 
have  been  amused  as  he  read  it ;  for  I  remem- 
ber giving  him  the  title  of  "  Esquire,"  and  speak- 
ing of  his  communication's  to  the  newspapers  as 
the  groumd  of  my  application  to  him.  "  Such 
is  fame !  "  he  likely  enough  said  to  himself. 
"  Here  is  a  man  with  eyes  in  his  head,  a  man, 


132  SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE. 

moreover,  who  has  probably  been  at  school  in 
his  time,  —  for  most  of  his  words  are  spelled 
correctly,  —  and  yet  he  knows  my  name  only 
as  he  has  seen  it  signed  once  in  a  while  to  a  few 
lines  in  a  newspaper."  Thoughts  like  these, 
however,  did  not  prevent  his  replying  to  the 
note  (my  "  valued  favor  ")  with  all  politeness, 
although  he  confessed  himself  unable  to  answer 
my  question  ;  and  by  the  time  I  had  occasion  to 
trouble  him  again  I  had  learned  that  he  was  to 
be  addressed  as  Doctor,  and,  furthermore,  was 
an  ornithologist  of  world-wide  reputation,  being, 
in  fact,  one  of  the  three  joint-authors  of  the 
most  important  work  so  far  issued  on  the  birds 
of  North  America. 

Certainly  I  was  and  am  grateful  to  him  (he 
is  now  dead)  for  his  generous  treatment  of  my 
ignorance ;  but  even  warmer  is  my  feeling  to- 
ward that  city  thrush,  who,  all  unconscious  of 
what  he  was  doing,  started  me  that  day  on  a 
line  of  study  which  has  been  ever  since  a  con- 
tinual delight.  Most  gladly  would  I  do  him 
any  kindness  in  my  power  ;  but  I  have  little 
doubt  that,  long  ere  this,  he,  too,  has  gone  the 
way  of  all  the  earth.  As  to  what  he  was  think- 
ing about  on  that  memorable  May  morning,  I  am 
as  much  in  the  dark  as  ever.  But  tfcere  is  no 
law  against  a  bird's  behaving  mysteriously,  I 
suppose.  Most  of  us,  I  am  sure,  often  do  things 


SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE.  133 

which  are  inexplicable  to  ourselves,  and  once  in 
a  very  great  while,  perhaps,  it  would  puzzle  even 
our  next-door  neighbors  to  render  a  complete  ac- 
count of  our  motives. 

Whatever  the  robin  meant,  however,  and  no 
doubt  there  was  some  good  reason  for  his  con- 
duct, he  had  given  my  curiosity  the  needed 
jog.  Now,  at  last,  I  would  do  what  I  had  often 
dreamed  of  doing,  —  learn  something  about  the 
birds  of  my  own  region,  and  be  able  to  recognize 
at  least  the  more  common  ones  when  I  saw  them. 

The  interest  of  the  study  proved  to  be  the 
greater  for  my  ignorance,  which,  to  speak 
within  bounds,  was  nothing  short  of  wonderful ; 
perhaps  I  might  appropriately  use  a  more  fash- 
ionable word,  and  call  it  phenomenal.  All  my 
life  long  I  had  had  a  kind  of  passion  for  being 
out-of-doors ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  had  been 
so  often  seen  wandering  by  myself  in  out-of-the- 
way  wood-paths,  or  sitting  idly  about  on  stone 
walls  in  lonesome  pastures,  that  some  of  my 
Philistine  townsmen  had  most  likely  come  to 
look  upon  me  as  no  better  than  a  vagabond. 
Yet  I  was  not  a  vagabond,  for  all  that.  I  liked 
work,  perhaps,  as  well  as  the  generality  of  peo- 
ple. But  I  was  unfortunate  in  this  respect : 
while  I  enjoyed  in-door  work,  I  hated  to  be  in 
the  house  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  while  I  en- 
joyed being  out-of-doors,  I  hated  all  manner  of 


134  SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE. 

out-door  employment.  I  was  not  lazy,  but  I  pos- 
sessed —  well,  let  us  call  it  the  true  aboriginal 
temperament ;  though  I  fear  that  this  distinc- 
tion will  be  found  too  subtile,  even  for  the  well- 
educated,  unless,  along  with  their  education, 
they  have  a  certain  sympathetic  bias,  which, 
after  all,  is  the  main  thing  to  be  depended  on 
in  such  nice  psychological  discriminations. 

With  all  my  rovings  in  wood  and  field,  how- 
ever, I  knew  nothing  of  any  open-air  study. 
Study  was  a  thing  of  books.  At  school  we  were 
never  taught  to  look  elsewhere  for  knowledge. 
Reading  and  spelling,  geography  and  grammar, 
arithmetic  and  algebra,  geometry  and  trigo- 
nometry,—  these  were  studied,  of  course,  as  also 
were  Latin  and  Greek.  But  none  of  our  lessons 
took  us  out  of  the  school-room,  unless  it  was 
astronomy,  the  study  of  which  I  had  nearly  for- 
gotten ;  and  that  we  pursued  in  the  night-time, 
when  birds  and  plants  were  as  though  they  were 
not.  I  cannot  recollect  that  any  one  of  my  teach- 
ers ever  called  my  attention  to  a  natural  object. 
It  seems  incredible,  but,  so  far  as  my  memory 
serves,  I  was  never  in  the  habit  of  observing  the 
return  of  the  birds  in  the  spring  or  their  de- 
parture in  the  autumn ;  except,  to  be  sure,  that 
the  semi-annual  flight  of  the  ducks  and  geese 
was  always  a  pleasant  excitement,  more  espe- 
cially because  there  were  several  lakes  (invari- 


SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE.  135 

ably  spoken  of  as  ponds)  in  our  vicinity,  on  the 
borders  of  which  'the  village  "  gunners  "  built 
pine-branch  booths  in  the  season. 

But  now,  as  I  have  said,  my  ignorance  was 
converted  all  at  once  into  a  kind  of  bless- 
ing ;  for  no  sooner  had  I  begun  to  read  bird 
books,  and  consult  a  cabinet  of  mounted  speci- 
mens, than  every  turn  out-of-doors  became  full 
of  all  manner  of  delightful  surprises.  Could  it 
be  that  what  I  now  beheld  with  so  much  won- 
der was  only  the  same  as  had  been  going  on 
year  after  year  in  these  my  own  familiar  lanes 
and  woods  ?  Truly  the  human  eye  is  nothing 
more  than  a  window,  of  no  use  unless  the  man 
looks  out  of  it. 

Some  of  the  experiences  of  that  period  seem 
ludicrous  enough  in  the  retrospect.  Only  two 
or  three  days  after  my  eyes  were  first  opened  I 
was  out  with  a  friend  in  search  of  wild-flowers 
(I  was  piloting  him  to  a  favorite  station  for 
Viola  pubescens),  when  I  saw  a  most  elegant 
little  creature,  mainly  black  and  white,  but 
with  brilliant  orange  markings.  He  was  dart- 
ing hither  and  thither  among  the  branches  of 
some  low  trees,  while  I  stared  at  him  in  amaze- 
ment, calling  on  my  comrade,  who  was  as  igno- 
rant as  myself,  but  less  excited,  to  behold  the 
prodigy.  Half  trembling  lest  the  bird  should 
prove  to  be  some  straggler  from  the  tropics,  the 


136  SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE. 

like  of  which  would  not  be  found  in  the  cabi- 
net before  mentioned,  I  went  thither  that  very 
evening.  Alas,  my  silly  fears  !  there  stood  the 
little  beauty's  exact  counterpart,  labeled  Seto- 
pTiaga  ruticilla,  the  American  redstart,  —  a  bird 
which  the  manual  assured  me  was  very  common 
in  my  neighborhood. 

But  it  was  not  my  eyes  only  that  were 
opened,  my  ears  also  were  touched.  It  was  as 
if  all  the  birds  had  heretofore  been  silent,  and 
now,  under  some  sudden  impulse,  had  broken 
out  in  universal  concert.  What  a  glorious 
chorus  it  was ;  and  every  voice  a  stranger ! 
For  a  week  or  more  I  was  puzzled  by  a  song 
which  I  heard  without  fail  whenever  I  went 
into  the  woods,  but  the  author  of  which  I  could 
never  set  eyes  on,  —  a  song  so  exceptionally 
loud  and  shrill,  and  marked  by  such  a  vehe- 
ment crescendo,  that,  even  to  my  new-found 
ears,  it  stood  out  from  the  general  medley  a 
thing  by  itself.  Many  times  I  struck  into  the 
woods  in  the  direction  whence  it  came,  but 
without  getting  so  much  as  a  flying  glimpse 
of  the  musician.  Very  mysterious,  surely ! 
Finally,  by  accident  I  believe,  I  caught  the  fel- 
low in  the  very  act  of  singing,  as  he  stood  on 
a  dead  pine-limb;  and  a  few  minutes  later  he 
was  on  the  ground,  walking  about  (not  hop- 
ping) with  the  primmest  possible  gait,  —  a 


SCRAPING   ACQUAINTANCE.  137 

small  olive-brown  bird,  with  an  orange  crown 
and  a  speckled  breast.  Then  I  knew  him  for 
the  golden-crowned  thrush  ;  but  it  was  not  for 
some  time  after  this  that  I  heard  his  famous 
evening  song,  and  it  was  longer  still  before  I 
found  his  curious  roofed  nest. 

"  Happy  those  early  days,"  those  days  of 
childish  innocence,  —  though  I  was  a  man 
grown,  —  when  every  bird  seemed  newly  cre- 
ated, and  even  the  redstart  and  the  wood  wag- 
tail were  like  rarities  from  the  ends  of  the 
earth.  Verily,  my  case  was  like  unto  Adam's, 
when  every  fowl  of  the  air  was  brought  before 
him  for  a  name. 

One  evening,  on  my  way  back  to  the  city 
after  an  afternoon  ramble,  I  stopped  just  at 
dusk  in  a  grove  of  hemlocks,  and  soon  out  of 
the  tree-top  overhead  came  a  song,  —  a  brief 
strain  of  about  six  notes,  in  a  musical  buij 
rather  rough  voice,  and  in  exquisite  accord 
with  the  quiet  solemnity  of  the  hour.  Again 
and  again  the  sounds  fell  on  my  ear,  and  as 
often  I  endeavored  to  obtain  a  view  of  the 
singer ;  but  he  was  in  the  thick  of  the  upper 
branches,  and  I  looked  for  him  in  vain.  How 
delicious  the  music  was !  a  perfect  lullaby, 
drowsy  and  restful ;  like  the  benediction  of  the 
wood  on  the  spirit  of  a  tired  city-dweller.  I 
blessed  the  unknown  songster  in  return  ;  and 


138  SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE. 

even  now  I  have  a  feeling  that  the  peculiar  en- 
joyment which  the  song  of  the  black-throated 
green  warbler  never  fails  to  afford  me  may  per- 
haps be  due  in  some  measure  to  its  association 
with  that  twilight  hour. 

To  this  same  hemlock  grove  I  was  in  the 
habit,  in  those  days,  of  going  now  and  then 
to  listen  to  the  evening  hymn  of  the  veery,  or 
Wilson  thrush.  Here,  if  nowhere  else,  might 
be  heard  music  fit  to  be  called  sacred.  Nor  did 
it  seem  a  disadvantage,  but  rather  the  contrary, 
when,  as  sometimes  happened,  I  was  compelled 
to  take  my  seat  in  the  edge  of  the  wood,  and 
wait  quietly,  in  the  gathering  darkness,  for 
vespers  to  begin.  The  veery's  mood  is  not  so 
lofty  as  the  hermit's,  nor  is  his  music  to  be  com- 
pared for  brilliancy  and  fullness  with  that  of  the 
wood  thrush  ;  but,  more  than  any  other  bird- 
song  known  to  me,  the  veery's  has,  if  I  may 
say  so,  the  accent  of  sanctity.  Nothing  is  here 
of  self-consciousness ;  nothing  of  earthly  pride 
or  passion.  If  we  chance  to  overhear  it  and 
laud  the  singer,  that  is  our  affair.  Simple- 
hearted  worshiper  that  he  is,  he  has  never 
dreamed  of  winning  praise  for  himself  by  the 
excellent  manner  in  which  he  praises  his  Crea- 
tor,—  an  absence  of  thrift,  which  is  very  be- 
coming in  thrushes,  though,  I  suppose,  it  is 
hardly  to  be  looked  for  in  human  choirs. 


SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE.  139 

And  yet,  for  all  the  unstudied  ease  and  sim- 
plicity of  the  veery's  strain,  he  is  a  great  master 
of  technique.  In  his  own  artless  way  he  does 
what  I  have  never  heard  any  other  bird  at- 
tempt :  he  gives  to  his  melody  all  the  force  of 
harmony.  How  this  unique  and  curious  effect, 
this  vocal  double-stopping,  as  a  violinist  might 
term  it,  is  produced,  is  not  certainly  known  ; 
but  it  would  seem  that  it  must  be  by  an  arpeggio, 
struck  with  such  consummate  quickness  and 
precision  that  the  ear  is  unable  to  follow  it,  and 
is  conscious  of  nothing  but  the  resultant  chord. 
At  any  rate,  the  thing  itself  is  indisputable,  and 
has  often  been  commented  on. 

Moreover,  this  is  only  half  the  veery's  tech- 
nical proficiency.  Once  in  a  while,  at  least,  he 
will  favor  you  with  a  delightful  feat  of  ventril- 
oquism ;  beginning  to  sing  in  single  voice,  as 
usual,  and  anon,  without  any  noticeable  increase 
in  the  loudness  of  the  tones,  diffusing  the  music 
throughout  the  wood,  as  if  there  were  a  bird  in 
every  tree,  all  singing  together  in  the  strictest 
time.  I  am  not  sure  that  all  members  of  the 
species  possess  this  power,  and  I  have  never 
seen  the  performance  alluded  to  in  print ;  but 
I  have  heard  it  when  the  illusion  was  complete, 
and  the  effect  most  beautiful. 

Music  so  devout  and  unostentatious  as  the 
veery's  does  not  appeal  to  the  hurried  or  the 


140  SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE. 

preoccupied.  If  you  would  enjoy  it  you  must 
bring  an  ear  to  hear.  I  have  sometimes  pleased 
myself  with  imagining  a  resemblance  between 
it  and  the  poetry  of  George  Herbert,  —  both 
uncared  for  by  the  world,  but  both,  on  that  very 
account,  prized  all  the  more  dearly  by  the  few 
in  every  generation  whose  spirits  are  in  tune 
with  theirs. 

This  bird  is  one  of  a  group  of  small  thrushes 
called  the  Hylocichlce,  of  which  group  we  have 
five  representatives  in  the  Atlantic  States  :  the 
wood  thrush ;  the  Wilson,  or  tawny  thrush ; 
the  hermit ;  the  olive-backed,  or  Swainson  ;  and 
the  gray-cheeked,  or  Alice's  thrush.  To  the 
unpracticed  eye  the  five  all  look  alike.  All  of 
them,  too,  have  the  same  glorious  voice,  so  that 
the  young  student  is  pretty  sure  to  find  it  a 
matter  of  some  difficulty  to  tell  them  apart. 
Yet  there  are  differences  of  coloration  which 
may  be  trusted  as  constant,  and  to  which,  after 
a  while,  the  eye  becomes  habituated ;  and,  at 
the  same  time,  each  species  has  a  song  and  call- 
notes  peculiar  to  itself.  One  cannot  help  wish- 
ing, indeed,  that  he  might  hear  the  five  singing 
by  turns  in  the  same  wood.  Then  he  could  fix 
the  distinguishing  peculiarities  of  the  different 
songs  in  his  mind  so  as  never  to  confuse  them 
again.  But  this  is  more  than  can  be  hoped 
for ;  the  listener  must  be  content  with  hearing 


SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE.  141 

two,  or  at  the  most  three,  of  the  species  singing 
together,  and  trust  his  memory  to  make  the  nec- 
essary comparison. 

The  song  of  the  wood  thrush  is  perhaps  the 
most  easily  set  apart  from  the  rest,  because  of 
its  greater  compass  of  voice  and  bravery  of  ex- 
ecution. The  Wilson's  song,  as  you  hear  it  by 
itself,  seems  so  perfectly  characteristic  that  you 
fancy  you  can  never  mistake  any  other  for  it ; 
and  yet,  if  you  are  in  northern  New  England 
only  a  week  afterwards,  you  may  possibly  hear 
a  Swainson  (especially  if  he  happens  to  be  one 
of  the  best  singers  of  his  species,  and,  more  es- 
pecially still,  if  he  happens  to  be  at  just  the 
right  distance  away),  who  you  will  say,  at  first 
thought,  is  surely  a  Wilson.  The  difficulty  of 
distinguishing  the  voices  is  naturally  greatest  in 
the  spring,  when  they  have  not  been  heard  for 
eight  or  nine  months.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  the 
student  must  be  willing  to  learn  the  same  lesson 
over  and  over,  letting  patience  have  her  perfect 
work.  That  the  five  songs  are  really  distin- 
guishable is  well  illustrated  by  the  fact  (which 
I  have  before  mentioned),  that  the  presence  of 
the  Alice  thrush  in  New  England  during  the 
breeding  season  was  announced  as  probable  by 
myself,  simply  on  the  strength  of  a  song  which 
I  had  heard  in  the  White  Mountains,  and  which, 
as  I  believed,  must  be  his,  notwithstanding  I 


142  SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE. 

was  entirely  unacquainted  with  it,  and  though 
all  our  books  affirmed  that  the  Alice  thrush 
was  not  a  summer  resident  of  any  part  of  the 
United  States. 

It  is  worth  remarking,  also,  in  this  connec- 
tion, that  the  Hylocichlce  differ  more  decidedly 
in  their  notes  of  alarm  than  in  their  songs. 
The  wood  thrush's  call  is  extremely  sharp  and 
brusque,  and  is  usually  fired  off  in  a  little  vol- 
ley ;  that  of  the  Wilson  is  a  sort  of  whine,  or 
snarl,  in  distressing  contrast  with  his  song  ;  the 
hermit's  is  a  quick,  sotto  voce,  sometimes  almost 
inaudible  chuck;  the  Swainson's  is  a  mellow 
whistle  ;  while  that  of  the  Alice  is  something 
between  the  Swainson's  and  the  Wilson's,  — 
not  so  gentle  and  refined  as  the  former,  nor  so 
outrageously  vulgar  as  the  latter. 

In  what  is  here  said  about  discriminating 
species  it  must  be  understood  that  I  am  not 
speaking  of  such  identification  as  will  answer 
a  strictly  scientific  purpose.  For  that  the  bird 
must  be  shot.  To  the  maiden 

"whose  light  blue  eyes 
Are  tender  over  drowning  flies," 

this  decree  will  no  doubt  sound  cruel.  Men  who 
pass  laws  of  that  sort  may  call  themselves  orni- 
thologists, if  they  will ;  for  her  part  she  calls  them 
butchers.  We  might  turn  on  our  fair  accuser,  it 
is  true,  with  some  inquiry  about  the  two  or  three 


SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE.  143 

bird-skins  which  adorn  her  bonnet.  But  that 
would  be  only  giving  one  more  proof  of  our  heart- 
lessness  ;  and,  besides,  unless  a  man  is  down- 
right angry  he  can  scarcely  feel  that  he  has 
really  cleared  himself  when  he  has  done  nothing 
more  than  to  point  the  finger  and  say,  You  're 
another.  However,  I  am  not  set  for  the  defence 
of  ornithologists.  They  are  abundantly  able  to 
take  care  of  themselves  without  the  help  of  any 
outsider.  I  only  declare  that,  even  to  my  un- 
professional eye,  this  rule  of  theirs  seems  wise 
and  necessary.  They  know,  if  their  critics  do 
not,  how  easy  it  is  to  be  deceived ;  how  many 
times  things  have  been  seen  and  minutely  de- 
scribed, which,  as  was  afterwards  established, 
could  not  by  any  possibility  have  been  visible. 
Moreover,  regret  it  as  we  may,  it  is  clear  that  in 
this  world  nobody  can  escape  giving  and  taking 
more  or  less  pain.  We  of  the  sterner  sex  are 
accustomed  to  think  that  even  our  blue-eyed 
censors  are  not  entirely  innocent  in  this  regard ; 
albeit,  for  myself,  I  am  bound  to  believe  that 
generally  they  are  not  to  blame  for  the  tortures 
they  inflict  upon  us. 

Granting  the  righteousness  of  the  scientist's 
caution,  however,  we  may  still  find  a  less  rigor- 
ous code  sufficient  for  our  own  non-scientific, 
though  I  hope  not  unscientific,  purpose.  For  it 
is  certain  that  no  great  enjoyment  of  bird  study 


144  SCRAPING   ACQUAINTANCE. 

is  possible  for  some  of  us,  if  we  are  never  to  be 
allowed  to  call  our  gentle  friends  by  name  un- 
til in  every  case  we  have  gone  through  the  for- 
mality of  a  post-mortem  examination.  Practi- 
cally, and  for  every-day  ends,  we  may  know  a 
robin,  or  a  redstart,  or  even  a  hermit  thrush, 
when  we  see  him,  without  first  turning  the  bird 
into  a  specimen. 

Probably  there  are  none  of  our  birds  which 
afford  more  surprise  and  pleasure  to  a  novice 
than  the  family  of  warblers.  A  well-known 
ornithologist  has  related  how  one  day  he  wan- 
dered into  the  forest  in  an  idle  mood,  and  acci- 
dentally catching  a  gleam  of  bright  color  over- 
head, raised  his  gun  and  brought  the  bird  to  his 
feet ;  and  how  excited  and  charmed  he  was  with 
the  wondrous  beauty  of  his  little  trophy.  Were 
there  other  birds  in  the  woods  as  lovely  as  this  ? 
He  would  see  for  himself.  And  that  was  the 
beginning  of  what  bids  fair  to  prove  a  life-long 
enthusiasm. 

Thirty-eight  warblers  are  credited  to  New 
England  ;  but  it  would  be  safe  to  say  that  not 
more  than  three  of  them  are  known  to  the 
average  New-Englander.  How  should. he  know 
them,  indeed  ?  They  do  not  come  about  the 
flower-garden  like  the  humming-bird,  nor  about 
the  lawn  like  the  robin ;  neither  can  they  be 
hunted  with  a  dog  like  the  grouse  and  the 


SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE.  145 

woodcock.  Hence,  for  all  their  gorgeous  ap- 
parel, they  are  mainly  left  to  students  and 
collectors.  Of  our  common  species  the  most 
beautiful  are,  perhaps,  the  blue  yellow  -  back, 
the  blue  golden-wing,  the  Blackburnian,  the 
black -and -yellow,  the  Canada  flycatcher,  and 
the  redstart ;  with  the  yellow-rump,  the  black- 
throated  green,  the  prairie  warbler,  the  sum- 
mer yellow -bird,  and  the  Maryland  yellow- 
throat  coming  not  far  behind.  But  all  of  them 
are  beautiful,  and  they  possess,  besides,  the 
charm  of  great  diversity  of  plumage  and  hab- 
its ;  while  some  of  them  have  the  further  merit, 
by  no  means  inconsiderable,  of  being  rare. 

It  was  a  bright  day  for  me  when  the  blue 
golden-winged  warbler  settled  in  my  neighbor- 
hood. On  my  morning  walk  I  detected  a  new 
song,  and,  following  it  up,  found  a  new  bird, 
—  a  result  which  is  far  from  being  a  thing 
of  course.  The  spring  migration  was  at  its 
height,  and  at  first  I  expected  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  my  new  friend's  society  for  only 
a  day  or  two ;  so  I  made  the  most  of  it.  But 
it  turned  out  that  he  and  his  companion  had 
come  to  spend  the  summer,  and  before  very  long 
I  discovered  their  nest.  This  was  still  unfin- 
ished when  I  came  upon  it ;  but  I  knew  pretty 
well  whose  it  was,  having  several  times  noticed 
the  birds  about  the  spot,  and  a  few  days  after- 
10 


146  SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE. 

wards  the  female  bravely  sat  still,  while  I  bent 
over  her,  admiring  her  courage  and  her  hand- 
some dress.  I  paid  my  respects  to  the  little 
mother  almost  daily,  but  jealously  guarded  her 
secret,  sharing  it  only  with  a  kind-hearted 
woman,  whom  I  took  with  me  on  one  of  my 
visits.  But,  alas!  one  day  I  called,  only  to 
find  the  nest  empty.  Whether  the  villain  who 
pillaged  it  traveled  on  two  legs,  or  on  four,  I 
never  knew.  Possibly  he  dropped  out  of  the 
air.  But  I  wished  him  no  good,  whoever  he 
was.  Next  year  the  birds  appeared  again,  and 
more  than  one  pair  of  them  ;  but  no  nest  could 
I  find,  though  I  often  looked  for  it,  and,  as 
children  say  in  their  games,  was  sometimes  very 
warm. 

Is  there  any  lover  of  birds  in  whose  mind 
certain  birds  and  certain  places  are  not  indis- 
solubly  joined  ?  Most  of  us,  I  am  sure,  could 
go  over  the  list  and  name  the  exact  spots 
where  we  first  saw  this  one,  where  we  first 
heard  that  one  sing,  and  where  we  found 
our  first  nest  of  the  other.  There  is  a  piece 
of  swampy  woodland  in  Jefferson,  New  Hamp- 
shire, midway  between  the  hotels  and  the  rail- 
way station,  which,  for  me,  will  always  be  as- 
sociated with  the  song  of  the  winter  wren.  I 
had  been  making  an  attempt  to  explore  the 
wood,  with  a  view  to  its  botanical  treasures  ; 


SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE.  147 

but  the  mosquitoes  had  rallied  with  such  spirit 
that  I  was  glad  to  beat  a  retreat  to  the  road. 
Just  then  an  unseen  bird  broke  out  into  a  song, 
and  by  the  time  he  had  finished  I  was  saying  to 
myself,  A  winter  wren  !  Now,  if  I  could  only 
see  him  in  the  act,  and  so  be  sure  of  the  correct- 
ness of  my  guess!  I  worked  to  that  end  as 
cautiously  as  possible,  but  all  to  no  purpose ; 
and  finally  I  started  abruptly  toward  the  spot 
whence  the  sound  had  come,  expecting  to  see 
the  bird  fly.  But  apparently  there  was  no  bird 
there,  and  I  stood  still,  in  a  little  perplexity. 
Then,  all  at  once,  the  wren  appeared,  hopping 
about  among  the  dead  branches,  within  a  few 
yards  of  my  feet,  and  peering  at  the  intruder 
with  evident  curiosity  ;  and  the  next  moment 
he  was  joined  by  a  hermit  thrush,  equally  in- 
quisitive. Both  were  silent  as  dead  men,  but 
plainly  had  no  doubt  whatever  that  they  were 
in  their  own  domain,  and  that  it  belonged  to 
the  other  party  to  move  away.  I  presumed 
that  the  thrush,  at  least,  had  a  nest  not  far  off, 
but  after  a  little  search  (the  mosquitoes  were 
still  active)  I  concluded  not  to  intrude  further 
on  his  domestic  privacy.  I  had  heard  the 
wren's  famous  song,  and  it  had  not  been  over- 
praised. But  then  came  the  inevitable  second 
thought :  had  I  really  heard  it  ?  True,  the 
music  possessed  the  wren  characteristics,  and  a 


148  SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE. 

winter  wren  was  in  the  brush ;  but  what  proof 
had  I  that  the  bird  and  the  song  belonged  to- 
gether ?  No  ;  I  must  see  him  in  the  act  of 
singing.  But  this,  I  found,  was  more  easily 
said  than  done.  In  Jefferson,  in  Gorham,  in 
the  Franconia  Notch,  in  short,  wherever  I 
went,  there  was  no  difficulty  about  hearing  the 
music,  and  little  about  seeing  the  wren  ;  but  it 
was  provoking  that  eye  and  ear  could  never 
be  brought  to  bear  witness  to  the  same  bird. 
However,  this  difficulty  was  not  insuperable, 
and  after  it  was  once  overcome  I  was  in  the 
habit  of  witnessing  the  whole  performance 
almost  as  often  as  I  wished. 

Of  similar  interest  to  me  is  a  turn  in  an  old 
Massachusetts  road,  over  which,  boy  and  man, 
I  have  traveled  hundreds  of  times ;  one  of  those 
delightful  back-roads,  half  road  and  half  lane, 
where  the  grass  grows  between  the  horse-track 
and  the  wheel-track,  while  bushes  usurp  what 
ought  to  be  the  sidewalk.  Here,  one  morning 
in  the  time  when  every  day  was  disclosing  two 
or  three  new  species  for  my  delight,  I  stopped 
to  listen  to  some  bird  of  quite  unsuspected 
identity,  who  was  calling  and  singing  and  scold- 
ing in  the  Indian  brier  thicket,  making,  in  truth, 
a  prodigious  racket.  I  twisted  and  turned,  and 
was  not  a  little  astonished  when  at  last  I  de- 
tected the  author  of  all  this  outcry.  From  a 


SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE.  149 

study  of  the  manual  I  set  him  down  as  proba- 
bly the  white-eyed  vireo,  —  a  conjecture  which 
further  investigation  confirmed.  This  vireo  is 
the  very  prince  of  stump-speakers,  —  fluent, 
loud,  and  sarcastic,  —  and  is  well  called  the 
politician,  though  it  is  a  disappointment  to  learn 
that  the  title  was  given  him,  not  for  his  elo- 
quence, but  on  account  of  his  habit  of  putting 
pieces  of  newspaper  into  his  nest.  While  I 
stood  peering  into  the  thicket,  a  man  whom  I 
knew  came  along  the  road,  and  caught  me  thus 
disreputably  employed.  Without  doubt  he 
thought  me  a  lazy  good-for-nothing ;  or  pos- 
sibly (being  more  charitable)  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  Poor  fellow  !  he  's  losing  his  mind." 

Take  a  gun  on  your  shoulder,  and  go  wan- 
dering about  the  woods  all  day  long,  and  you 
will  be  looked  upon  with  respect,  no  matter 
though  you  kill  nothing  bigger  than  a  chip- 
munk ;  or  stand  by  the  hour  at  the  end  of  a 
fishing-pole,  catching  nothing  but  mosquito- 
bites,  and  your  neighbors  will  think  no  ill  of 
you.  But  to  be  seen  staring  at  a  bird  for  five 
minutes  together,  or  picking  road-side  weeds  ! 
—  well,  it  is  fortunate  there  are  asylums  for  the 
crazy.  Not  unlikely  the  malady  will  grow  upon 
him ;  and  who  knows  how  soon  he  may  become 
dangerous?  Something  must  be  wrong  about 
that  to  which  we  are  unaccustomed.  Blowing 


150  SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE. 

out  the  brains  of  rabbits  and  squirrels  is  an 
innocent  and  delightful  pastime,  as  everybody 
knows  ;  and  the  delectable  excitement  of  pull- 
ing half-grown  fishes  out  of  the  pond  to  perish 
miserably  on  the  bank,  that,  too,  is  a  recreation 
easily  enough  appreciated.  But  what  shall  be 
said  of  enjoying  birds  without  killing  them,  or 
of  taking  pleasure  in  plants,  which,  so  far  as  we 
know,  cannot  suffer  even  if  we  do  kill  them  ? 

Of  my  many  pleasant  associations  of  birds 
with  places,  one  of  the  pleasantest  is  connected 
with  the  red-headed  woodpecker.  This  showy 
bird  has  for  a  good  many  years  been  very  rare 
in  Massachusetts ;  and  therefore,  when,  during 
the  freshness  of  my  ornithological  researches,  I 
went  to  Washington  for  a  month's  visit,  it  was 
one  of  the  things  which  I  had  especially  in 
mind,  to  make  his  acquaintance.  But  I  looked 
for  him  without  success,  till,  at  the  end  of  a 
fortnight,  I  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Mount  Ver- 
non.  Here,  after  visiting  the  grave,  and  going 
over  the  house,  as  every  visitor  does,  I  saun- 
tered about  the  grounds,  thinking  of  the  great 
man  who  used  to  do  the  same  so  many  years 
before,  but  all  the  while  keeping  my  eyes  open 
for  the  present  feathered  inhabitants  of  the  sa- 
cred spot.  Soon  a  bird  dashed  by  me,  and 
struck  against  the  trunk  of  an  adjacent  tree, 
and  glancing  up  quickly,  I  beheld  my  much- 


SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE.  151 

sought  red -headed  woodpecker.  How  appro- 
priately patriotic  he  looked,  at  the  home  of 
Washington,  wearing  the  national  colors,  —  red, 
white,  and  blue  !  After  this  he  became  abun- 
dant about  the  capital,  so  that  I  saw  him  often, 
and  took  much  pleasure  in  his  frolicsome  ways ; 
and,  some  years  later,  he  suddenly  appeared  in 
force  in  the  vicinity  of  Boston,  where  he  re- 
mained through  the  winter  months.  To  my 
thought,  none  the  less,  he  will  always  suggest 
Mount  Vernon.  Indeed,  although  he  is  cer- 
tainly rather  jovial,  and  even  giddy,  he  is  to  me 
the  bird  of  Washington  much  more  truly  than 
is  the  solemn,  stupid-seeming  eagle,  who  com- 
monly bears  that  name. 

To  go  away  from  home,  even  if  the  journey 
be  no  longer  than  from  Massachusetts  to  the 
District  of  Columbia,  is  sure  to  prove  an  event 
of  no  small  interest  to  a  young  naturalist ;  and 
this  visit  of  mine  to  the  national  capital  was  no 
exception.  On  the  afternoon  of  my  arrival, 
walking  up  Seventh  Street,  I  heard  a  series  of 
loud,  clear,  monotonous  whistles,  which  I  had 
then  no  leisure  to  investigate,  but  the  author 
of  which  I  promised  myself  the  satisfaction  of 
meeting  at  another  time.  In  fact,  I  think  it 
was  at  least  a  fortnight  before  I  learned  that 
these  whistles  came  from  the  tufted  titmouse. 
I  had  been  seeing  him  almost  daily,  but  till 


152  SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE. 

then  he  had  never  chanced  to  use  that  particu- 
lar note  while  under  my  eye. 

There  was  a  certain  tract  of  country,  wood- 
land and  pasture,  over  which  I  roamed  a  good 
many  times,  and  which  is  still  clearly  mapped 
out  in  my  memory.  Here  I  found  my  first 
Carolina  or  mocking  wren,  who  ran  in  at  one 
side  of  a  woodpile  and  came  out  at  the  other  as 
I  drew  near,  and  who,  a  day  or  two  afterwards, 
sang  so  loudly  from  an  oak  tree  that  I  ransacked 
it  with  my  eye  in  search  of  some  large  bird, 
and  was  confounded  when  finally  I  discovered 
who  the  musician  really  was.  Here,  every  day, 
were  to  be  heard  the  glorious  song  of  the  car- 
dinal grosbeak,  the  insect-like  effort  of  the  blue- 
gray  gnat-catcher,  and  the  rigmarole  of  the  yel- 
low-breasted chat.  On  a  wooded  hillside, 
where  grew  a  profusion  of  trailing  arbutus, 
pink  azalea,  and  bird-foot  violets,  the  rowdy- 
ish,  great-crested  flycatchers  were  screaming  in 
the  tree-tops.  In  this  same  grove  I  twice  saw 
the  rare  red-bellied  woodpecker,  who,  on  both 
occasions,  after  rapping  smartly  with  his  beak, 
turned  his  head  and  laid  his  ear  against  the 
trunk,  evidently  listening  to  see  whether  his 
alarm  had  set  any  grub  a-stirring.  Near  by, 
in  an  undergrowth,  I  fell  in  with  a  few  worm- 
eating  warblers.  They  seemed  of  a  peculiarly 
unsuspicious  turn  of  mind,  and  certainly  wore 


SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE.  153 

the  quaintest  of  head-dresses.  I  must  mention 
also  a  scarlet  tanager,  who,  all  afire  as  he  was, 
one  day  alighted  in  a  bush  of  flowering  dog- 
wood, which  was  completely  covered  with  its 
large  white  blossoms.  Probably  he  had  no  idea 
how  well  his  perch  became  him. 

Perhaps  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  confess  it, 
but,  though  I  went  several  times  into  the  gal- 
leries of  our  honorable  Senate  and  House  of 
Representatives,  and  heard  speeches  by  some 
celebrated  men,  including  at  least  half  a  dozen 
candidates  for  the  presidency,  yet,  after  all, 
the  congressmen  in  feathers  interested  me 
most.  I  thought,  indeed,  that  the  chat  might 
well  enough  have  been  elected  to  the  lower 
house.  His  volubility  and  waggish  manners 
would  have  made  him  quite  at  home  in  that 
assembly,  while  his  orange  -  colored  waistcoat 
would  have  given  him  an  agreeable  conspicuity. 
But,  to  be  sure,  he  would  have  needed  to  learn 
the  use  of  tobacco. 

Well,  all  this  was  only  a  few  years  ago  ;  but 
the  men  whose  eloquence  then  drew  the  crowd 
to  the  capitol  are,  many  of  them,  heard  there 
no  longer.  Some  are  dead  ;  some  have  retired 
to  private  life.  But  the  birds  never  die.  Every 
spring  they  come  trooping  back  for  their  all- 
summer  session.  The  turkey-buzzard  still  floats 
majestically  over  the  city ;  the  chat  still  prac- 


154  SCRAPING  ACQUAINTANCE. 

tices  his  lofty  tumbling  in  the  suburban  pas- 
tures, snarling  and  scolding  at  all  comers  ;  the 
flowing  Potomac  still  yields  "  a  blameless 
sport  "  to  the  fish-crow  and  the  kingfisher  ;  the 
orchard  oriole  continues  to  whistle  in  front  of 
the  Agricultural  Department,  and  the  crow 
blackbird  to  parade  back  and  forth  over  the 
Smithsonian  lawns.  Presidents  and  senators 
may  come  and  go,  be  praised  and  vilified,  and 
then  in  turn  forgotten  ;  but  the  birds  are  sub- 
ject to  no  such  mutations.  It  is  a  foolish 
thought,  but  sometimes  their  happy  careless- 
ness seems  the  better  part. 


MINOR  SONGSTERS. 


The  lesser  lights,  the  dearer  still 
That  they  elude  a  vulgar  eye. 

BROWNING. 

Listen  too, 
How  every  pause  is  filled  with  under-notes. 

SHELLKY. 


MINOR  SONGSTERS. 


AMONG  those  of  us  who  are  in  the  habit  of 
attending  to  bird-songs,  there  can  hardly  be 
anybody,  I  think,  who  has  not  found  himself 
specially  and  permanently  attracted  by  the  mu- 
sic of  certain  birds  who  have  little  or  no  gen- 
eral reputation.  Our  favoritism  may  perhaps 
be  the  result  of  early  associations  :  we  heard  the 
singer  first  in  some  uncommonly  romantic  spot, 
or  when  we  were  in  a  mood  of  unusual  sensibil- 
ity ;  and,  in  greater  or  less  degree,  the  charm  of 
that  hour  is  always  renewed  for  us  with  the 
repetition  of  the  song.  Or  it  may  be  (who  will 
assert  the  contrary  ?)  that  there  is  some  occult 
relation  between  the  bird's  mind  and  our  own. 
Or,  once  more,  something  may  be  due  to  the  nat- 
ural pleasure  which  amiable  people  take  (and 
all  lovers  of  birds  may  be  supposed,  a  priori,  to 
belong  to  that  class)  in  paying  peculiar  honor 
to  merit  which  the  world  at  large,  less  discrimi- 
nating than  they,  has  thus  far  failed  to  recog- 
nize, and  in  which,  therefore,  as  by  "  right  of 


158  MINOR  SONGSTERS. 

discovery,"  they  have  a  sort  of  proprietary  inter- 
est. This,  at  least,  is  evident :  our  preference 
is  not  determined  altogether  by  the  intrinsic 
worth  of  the  song ;  the  mind  is  active,  not  pass- 
ive, and  gives  to  the  music  something  from  it- 
self, —  "  the  consecration  and  the  poet's  dream." 

Furthermore,  it  is  to  be  said  that  a  singer  — 
and  a  bird  no  less  than  a  man  —  may  be  want- 
ing in  that  fullness  and  scope  of  voice  and  that 
large  measure  of  technical  skill  which  are  abso- 
lutely essential  to  the  great  artist,  properly  so 
called,  and  yet,  within  his  own  limitations,  may 
be  competent  to  please  even  the  most  fastidious 
ear.  It  is  with  birds  as  with  other  poets  :  the 
smaller  gift  need  not  be  the  less  genuine  ;  and 
they  whom  the  world  calls  greatest,  and  whom 
we  ourselves  most  admire,  may  possibly  not  be 
the  ones  who  touch  us  most  intimately,  or  to 
whom  we  return  oftenest  and  with  most  delight. 

This  may  be  well  illustrated  by  a  comparison 
of  the  chickadee  with  the  brown  thrush.  The 
thrush,  or,  as  he  is  sometimes  profanely  styled, 
the  thrasher,  is  the  most  pretentious,  perhaps  I 
ought  to  say  the  greatest,  of  New  England  song- 
sters, if  we  rule  out  the  mocking-bird,  who  is  so 
very  rare  with  us  as  scarcely  to  come  into  the 
competition  ;  and  still,  in  my  opinion,  his  sing- 
ing seldom  produces  the  effect  of  really  fine 
music.  With  all  his  ability,  which  is  nothing 


MINOR  SONGSTERS.  159 

short  of  marvelous,  his  taste  is  so  deplorably 
uncertain,  and  his  passion  so  often  becomes  a 
downright  frenzy,  that  the  excited  listener, 
hardly  knowing  what  to  think,  laughs  and  shouts 
Bravo  !  by  turns.  Something  must  be  amiss, 
certainly,  when  the  deepest  feelings  of  the  heart 
are  poured  forth  in  a  manner  to  suggest  the  per- 
formance of  a  buffo.  The  chickadee,  on  the 
other  hand,  seldom  gets  mention  as  a  singer. 
Probably  he  never  looked  upon  himself  as  such. 
You  will  not  find  him  posing  at  the  top  of  a 
tree,  challenging  the  world  to  listen  and  admire. 
But,  as  he  hops  from  twig  to  twig  in  quest  of 
insects'  eggs  and  other  dainties,  his  merry  spirits 
are  all  the  time  bubbling  over  in  little  chirps 
and  twitters,  with  now  and  then  a  Chickadee, 
dee,  or  a  Hear,  hear  me,  every  least  syllable  of 
which  is  like  "  the  very  sound  of  happy 
thoughts."  For  my  part,  I  rate  such  trifles  with 
the  best  of  all  good  music,  and  feel  that  we 
cannot  be  grateful  enough  to  the  brave  tit,  who 
furnishes  us  with  them  for  the  twelve  months 
of  every  year. 

So  far  as  the  chickadee  is  concerned,  I  see 
nothing  whatever  to  wish  different ;  but  am 
glad  to  believe  that,  for  my  day  and  long  after, 
he  will  remain  the  same  unassuming,  careless- 
hearted  creature  that  he  now  is.  If  I  may  be 
allowed  the  paradox,  it  would  be  too  bad  for 


160  MINOR  SONGSTERS. 

him  to  change,  even  for  the  better.  But  the 
bluebird,  who  like  the  titmouse  is  hardly  to  be 
accounted  a  musician,  does  seem  to  be  some- 
what blameworthy.  Once  in  a  while,  it  is  true, 
he  takes  a  perch  and  sings  ;  but  for  the  most 
part  he  is  contented  with  a  few  simple  notes, 
having  no  semblance  of  a  tune.  Possibly  he 
holds  that  his  pure  contralto  voice  (I  do  not  re- 
member ever  to  have  heard  from  him  any  note 
of  a  soprano,  or  even  of  a  mezzo-soprano  quality) 
ought  by  itself  to  be  a  sufficient  distinction  ;  but 
I  think  it  likelier  that  his  slight  attempt  at 
music  is  only  one  manifestation  of  the  habitual 
reserve  which,  more  than  anything  else  per- 
haps, may  be  said  to  characterize  him.  How 
differently  he  and  the  robin  impress  us  in  this 
particular !  Both  take  up  their  abode  in  our 
door-yards  and  orchards ;  the  bluebird  goes  so 
far,  indeed,  as  to  accept  our  hospitality  outright, 
building  his  nest  in  boxes  put  up  for  his  accom- 
modation, and  making  the  roofs  of  our  houses 
his  favorite  perching  stations.  But,  while  the 
robin  is  noisily  and  jauntily  familiar,  the  blue- 
bird maintains  a  dignified  aloofness ;  coming  and 
going  about  the  premises,  but  keeping  his 
thoughts  to  himself,  and  never  becoming  one  of 
us  save  by  the  mere  accident  of  local  proximity. 
The  robin,  again,  loves  to  travel  in  large  flocks, 
when  household  duties  are  over  for  the  season  ; 


MINOR  SONGSTERS.  161 

but  although  the  same  has  been  reported  of  the 
bluebird,  I  have  never  myself  seen  such  a  thing, 
and  am  satisfied  that,  as  a  rule,  this  gentle  spirit 
finds  a  family  party  of  six  or  seven  company 
enough.  His  reticence,  as  we  cheerfully  admit, 
is  nothing  to  quarrel  with ;  it  is  all  well-bred, 
and  not  in  the  least  unkindly  ;  in  fact,  we  like 
it,  on  the  whole,  rather  better  than  the  robin's 
pertness  and  garrulity ;  but,  none  the  less,  its 
natural  consequence  is  that  the  bird  has  small 
concern  for  musical  display.  When  he  sings, 
it  is  not  to  gain  applause,  but  to  express  his  af- 
fection ;  and  while,  in  one  aspect  of  the  case, 
there  is  nothing  out  of  the  way  in  this,  —  since 
his  affection  need  not  be  the  less  deep  and  true 
because  it  is  told  in  few  words  and  with  un- 
adorned phrase,  —  yet,  as  I  said  to  begin  with, 
it  is  hard  not  to  feel  that  the  world  is  being  de- 
frauded, when  for  any  reason,  however  amiable, 
the  possessor  of  such  a  matchless  voice  has  no 
ambition  to  make  the  most  of  it. 

It  is  always  a  double  pleasure  to  find  a  plod- 
ding, humdrum-seeming  man  with  a  poet's  heart 
in  his  breast ;  and  a  little  of  the  same  delighted 
surprise  is  felt  by  every  one,  I  imagine,  when 
he  learns  for  the  first  time  that  our  little  brown 
creeper  is  a  singer.  What  life  could  possibly 
be  more  prosaic  than  his  ?  Day  after  day,  year 
in  and  out,  he  creeps  up  one  tree-trunk  after 
11 


162  MINOR  SONGSTERS. 

another,  pausing  only  to  peer  right  and  left 
into  the  crevices  of  the  bark,  in  search  of  mi- 
croscopic tidbits.  A  most  irksome  sameness, 
surely  !  How  the  poor  fellow  must  envy  the 
swallows,  who  live  on  the  wing,  and,  as  it  were, 
have  their  home  in  heaven  !  So  it  is  easy  for 
us  to  think ;  but  I  doubt  whether  the  creeper 
himself  is  troubled  with  such  suggestions.  He 
seems,  to  say  the  least,  as  well  contented  as  the 
most  of  us  ;  and,  what  is  more,  I  am  inclined  to 
doubt  whether  any  except  "  free  moral  agents," 
like  ourselves,  are  ever  wicked  enough  to  find 
fault  with  the  orderings  of  Divine  Providence. 
I  fancy,  too,  that  we  may  have  exaggerated  the 
monotony  of  the  creeper's  lot.  It  can  scarcely 
be  that  even  his  days  are  without  their  occa- 
sional pleasurable  excitements.  After  a  good 
many  trees  which  yield  little  or  nothing  for  his 
pains,  he  must  now  and  then  light  upon  one 
which  is  like  Canaan  after  the  wilderness,  — 
"  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey."  In- 
deed, the  longer  I  think  of  it  the  more  confi- 
dent I  feel  that  every  aged  creeper  must  have 
had  sundry  experiences  of  this  sort,  which  he 
is  never  weary  of  recounting  for  the  edification 
of  his  nephews  and  nieces,  who,  of  course,  are 
far  too  young  to  have  anything  like  the  wide 
knowledge  of  the  world  which  their  venerable 
three-years-old  uncle  possesses.  Certhia  works 


MINOR  SONGSTERS.  163 

all  day  for  his  daily  bread  ;  and  yet  even  of 
him  it  is  true  that  "  the  life  is  more  than  meat." 
He  has  his  inward  joys,  his  affectionate  de- 
lights, which  no  outward  infelicity  can  touch. 
A  bird  who  thinks  nothing  of  staying  by  his 
nest  and  bis  mate  at  the  sacrifice  of  his  life  is 
not  to  be  written  down  a  dullard  or  a  drudge, 
merely  because  his  dress  is  plain  and  his  occu- 
pation unromantic.  He  has  a  right  to  sing,  for 
he  has  something  within  him  to  inspire  the 
strain. 

There  are  descriptions  of  the  creeper's  music 
which  liken  it  to  a  wren's.  I  am  sorry  that 
I  have  myself  heard  it  only  on  one  occasion : 
then,  however,  so  far  was  it  from  being  wren- 
like  that  it  might  rather  have  been  the  work  of 
one  of  the  less  proficient  warblers,  —  a  some- 
what long  opening  note  followed  by  a  hurried 
series  of  shorter  ones,  the  whole  given  in  a 
sharp,  thin  voice,  and  having  nothing  to  recom- 
mend it  to  notice,  considered  simply  as  music. 
All  the  while  the  bird  kept  on  industriously 
with  his  journey  up  the  tree  ;  and  it  is  not  in 
the  least  unlikely  that  he  may  have  another 
and  better  song,  which  he  reserves  for  times  of 
more  leisure.1 

Our  American  wood-warblers  are  all  to  be 

1  Since  this  was  written  I  have  heard  the  creeper  sing  a  tune 
very  different  from  the  one  described  above.    See  p.  227. 


164  MINOR  SONGSTERS. 

classed  among  the  minor  songsters ;  standing 
in  this  respect  in  strong  contrast  with  the  true 
Old  World  warblers,  of  whose  musical  capacity 
enough,  perhaps,  is  said  when  it  is  mentioned 
that  the  nightingale  is  one  of  them.  But,  com- 
parisons apart,  our  birds  are  by  no  means  to  be 
despised,  and  not  a  few  of  their  songs  have  a 
good  degree  of  merit.  That  of  the  well-known 
summer  yellow-bird  may  be  taken  as  fairly  rep- 
resentative of  the  entire  group,  being  neither 
one  of  the  best  nor  one  of  the  poorest.  He,  I 
have  noticed,  is  given  to  singing  late  in  the 
day.  Three  of  the  New  England  species  have 
at  the  same  time  remarkably  rough  voices  and 
black  throats,  —  I  mean  the  black  -  throated 
blue,  the  black-throated  green,  and  the  blue 
golden -wing,  —  and  seeing  that  the  first  two 
are  of  the  genus  Dendrceoa,  while  the  last  is 
a  Helminthophaga,  I  have  allowed  myself  to 
query  (half  in  earnest)  whether  they  may  not, 
possibly,  be  more  nearly  related  than  the  sys- 
tematists  have  yet  discovered.  Several  of  the 
warbler  songs  are  extremely  odd.  The  blue 
yellow-back's,  for  example,  is  a  brief,  hoarse, 
upward  run,  —  a  kind  of  scale  exercise  ;  and  if 
the  practice  of  such  things  be  really  as  bene- 
ficial as  music  teachers  affirm,  it  would  seem 
that  this  little  beauty  must  in  time  become  a 
vocalist  of  the  first  order.  Nearly  the  same 


MINOR  SONGSTERS.  165 

might  be  said  of  the  prairie  warbler  ;  but  his 
etude  is  a  little  longer  and  less  hurried,  besides 
being  in  a  higher  key.  I  do  not  call  to  mind 
any  bird  who  sings  a  downward  scale.  Having 
before  spoken  of  the  tendency  of  warblers  to 
learn  two  or  even  three  set  tunes,  I  was  the 
more  interested  when,  last  summer,  I  added 
another  to  my  list  of  the  species  which  aspire 
to  this  kind  of  liberal  education.  It  was  on  the 
side  of  Mount  Clinton  that  I  heard  two  Black- 
burnians,  both  in  full  sight  and  within  a  few 
rods  of  each  other,  who  were  singing  two  en- 
tirely distinct  songs.  One  of  these  —  it  is  the 
common  one,  I  think  —  ended  quaintly  with 
three  or  four  short  notes,  like  zip,  zip,  zip; 
while  the  other  was  not  unlike  a  fraction  of  the 
winter  wren's  melody.  Those  who  are  familiar 
with  the  latter  bird  will  perhaps  recognize  the 
phrase  referred  to  if  I  call  it  the  willie,  willie, 
winkie, — with  a  triple  accent  on  the  first  syl- 
lable of  the  last  word.  Most  of  the  songs  of 
this  family  are  rather  slight,  but  the  extremest 
case  known  to  me  is  that  of  the  black  -  poll 
(Dendrceca  striata),  whose  zee,  zee,  zee  is  al- 
most ridiculously  faint.  You  may  hear  it  con- 
tinually in  the  higher  spruce  forests  of  the 
White  Mountains  ;  but  you  will  look  a  good 
many  times  before  you  discover  its  author,  and 
not  improbably  will  begin  by  taking  it  for  the 


166  MINOR  SONGSTERS. 

call  of  the  kinglet.  The  music  of  the  bay- 
breasted  warbler  is  similar  to  the  black-poll's, 
but  hardly  so  weak  and  formless.  It  seems 
reasonable  to  believe  not  only  that  these  two 
species  are  descended  from  a  common  ancestry, 
but  that  the  divergence  is  of  a  comparatively 
recent  date :  even  now  the  young  of  the  year 
can  be  distinguished  only  with  great  difficulty, 
although  the  birds  in  full  feather  are  clearly 
enough  marked. 

Warblers'  songs  are  often  made  up  of  two 
distinct  portions  :  one  given  deliberately,  the 
other  hurriedly  and  with  a  concluding  flourish. 
Indeed,  the  same  may  be  said  of  bird-songs  gen- 
erally, —  those  of  the  song  sparrow,  the  bay- 
winged  bunting,  and  the  wood  thrush  being 
familiar  examples.  Yet  there  are  many  sing- 
ers who  attempt  no  climax  of  this  sort,  but 
make  their  music  to  consist  of  two,  or  three,  or 
more  parts,  all  alike.  The  Maryland  yellow- 
throat,  for  instance,  cries  out  over  and  over, 
"  What  a  pity,  what  a  pity,  what  a  pity  !  "  So, 
at  least,  he  seems  to  say;  though,  I  confess,  it 
is  more  than  likely  I  mistake  the  words,  since 
the  fellow  never  appears  to  be  feeling'  badly, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  delivers  his  message  with 
an  air  of  cordial  satisfaction.  The  song  of  the 
pine-creeping  warbler  is  after  still  another  fash- 
ion, —  one  simple  short  trill.  It  is  musical  and 


MINOR  SONGSTERS.  167 

sweet ;  the  more  so  for  coming  almost  always 
out  of  a  pine-tree. 

The  vireos,  or  greenlets,  are  akin  to  the  war- 
blers in  appearance  and  habits,  and  like  them 
are  peculiar  to  the  western  continent.  We  have 
no  birds  that  are  more  unsparing  of  their  mu- 
sic (prodigality  is  one  of  the  American  vir- 
tues, we  are  told)  :  they  sing  from  morning  till 
night,  and  —  some  of  them,  at  least  —  continue 
thus  till  the  very  end  of  the  season.  It  is 
worth  mentioning,  however,  that  the  red-eye 
makes  a  short  day  ;  becoming  silent  just  at  the 
time  when  the  generality  of  birds  grow  most 
noisy.  Probably  the  same  is  true  of  the  rest 
of  the  family,  but  on  that  point  I  am  not  pre- 
pared to  speak  with  positiveness.  Of  the  five 
New  England  species  (I  omit  the  brotherly-love 
greenlet,  never  having  been  fortunate  enough 
to  know  him)  the  white-eye  is  decidedly  the 
most  ambitious,  the  warbling  and  the  solitary 
are  the  most  pleasing,  while  the  red-eye  and 
the  yellow-throat  are  very  much  alike,  and  both 
of  them  rather  too  monotonous  and  persistent. 
It  is  hard,  sometimes,  not  to  get  out  of  patience 
with  the  red-eye's  ceaseless  and  noisy  iteration 
of  his  trite  theme  ;  especially  if  you  are  doing 
your  utmost  to  catch  the  notes  of  some  rarer 
and  more  refined  songster.  In  my  note-book  I 
find  an  entry  describing  my  vain  attempts  to 


168  MINOR  SONGSTERS. 

enjoy  the  music  of  a  rose-breasted  grosbeak,  — 
who  at  that  time  had  never  been  a  common 
bird  with  me,  —  while  "  a  pesky  Wagnerian 
red-eye  kept  up  an  incessant  racket." 

The  warbling  vireo  is  admirably  named; 
there  is  no  one  of  our  birds  that  can  more  prop- 
erly be  said  to  warble.  He  keeps  further  from 
the  ground  than  the  others,  and  shows  a  strong 
preference  for  the  elms  of  village  streets,  out  of 
which  his  delicious  music  drops  upon  the  ears 
of  all  passers  underneath.  How  many  of  them 
hear  it  and  thank  the  singer  is  unhappily  an- 
other question. 

The  solitary  vireo  may  once  in  a  while  be 
heard  in  a  roadside  tree,  chanting  as  familiarly 
as  any  red-eye ;  but  he  is  much  less  abundant 
than  the  latter,  and,  as  a  rule,  more  retiring. 
His  ordinary  song  is  like  the  red-eye's  and  the 
yellow-throat's,  except  that  it  is  pitched  some- 
what higher  and  has  a  peculiar  inflection  or  ca- 
dence, which  on  sufficient  acquaintance  becomes 
quite  unmistakable.  This,  however,  is  only  the 
smallest  part  of  his  musical  gift.  One  morning 
in  May,  while  strolling  through  a  piece  of  thick 
woods,  I  came  upon  a  bird  of  this  species,  who, 
all  alone  like  myself,  was  hopping  from  one  low 
branch  to  another,  and  every  now  and  then 
breaking  out  into  a  kind  of  soliloquizing  song, 
—  a  musical  chatter,  shifting  suddenly  to  an  in- 


MINOR  SONGSTERS.  169 

tricate,  low-voiced  warble.  Later  in  the  same 
day  I  found  another  in  a  chestnut  grove.  This 
last  was  in  a  state  of  quite  unwonted  fervor, 
and  sang  almost  continuously  ;  now  in  the  usual 
disconnected  vireo  manner,  and  now  with  a 
chatter  and  warble  like  what  I  had  heard  in  the 
morning,  but  louder  and  longer.  His  best  ef- 
forts ended  abruptly  with  the  ordinary  vireo 
call,  and  the  instantaneous  change  of  voice  gave 
to  the  whole  a  very  strange  effect.  The  chat- 
ter and  warble  appeared  to  be  related  to  each 
other  precisely  as  are  those  of  the  ruby-crowned 
kinglet ;  while  the  warble  had  a  certain  tender, 
affectionate,  some  would  say  plaintive  quality, 
which  at  once  put  me  in  mind  of  the  goldfinch. 
I  have  seldom  been  more  charmed  with  the 
song  of  any  bird  than  I  was  on  the  7th  of  last 
October  with  that  of  this  same  Vireo  solitarius. 
The  morning  was  bright  and  warm,  but  the 
birds  had  nearly  all  taken  their  departure,  and 
the  few  that  remained  were  silent.  Suddenly 
the  stillness  was  broken  by  a  vireo  note,  and  I 
said  to  myself  with  surprise,  A  red-eye  ?  List- 
ening again,  however,  I  detected  the  solitary's 
inflection  ;  and  after  a  few  moments  the  bird, 
in  the  most  obliging  manner,  came  directly  to- 
wards me,  and  began  to  warble  in  the  fashion 
already  described.  He  sang  and  sang,  —  as  if 
his  song  could  have  no  ending,  —  and  mean- 


170  MINOR  SONGSTERS. 

while  was  flitting  from  tree  to  tree,  intent  upon 
his  breakfast.  As  far  as  I  could  discover,  he 
was  without  company;  and  his  music,  too, 
seemed  to  be  nothing  more  than  an  unpremed- 
itated, half-unconscious  talking  to  himself. 
Wonderfully  sweet  it  was,  and  full  of  the  hap- 
piest content.  "  I  listened  till  I  had  my  fill," 
and  returned  the  favor,  as  best  I  could,  by  hop- 
ing that  the  little  wayfarer's  lightsome  mood 
would  not  fail  him,  all  the  way  to  Guatemala 
and  back  again. 

Exactly  a  month  before  this,  and  not  far  from 
the  same  spot,  I  had  stood  for  some  minutes  to 
enjoy  the  "recital"  of  the  solitary's  saucy 
cousin,  the  white-eye.  Even  at  that  time,  al- 
though the  woods  were  swarming  with  birds,  — 
many  of  them  travelers  from  the  North, — this 
white-eye  was  nearly  the  only  one  still  in  song. 
He,  however,  was  fairly  brimming  over  with 
music ;  changing  his  tune  again  and  again,  and 
introducing  (for  the  first  time  in  Weymouth,  as 
concert  programmes  say)  a  notably  fine  shake. 
Like  the  solitary,  he  was  all  the  while  busily 
feeding  (birds  in  general,  and  vireos  in  particu- 
lar, hold  with  Mrs.  Browning  that  we  may 
"  prove  our  work  the  better  for  the  sweetness  of 
our  song  "),  and  one  while  was  exploring  a  poi- 
son-dogwood bush,  plainly  without  the  slightest 
fear  of  any  ill-result.  It  occurred  to  me  that 


MINOR  SONGSTERS.  171 

possibly  it  is  our  fault,  and  not  that  of  HJius 
venenata,  when  we  suffer  from  the  touch  of  that 
graceful  shrub. 

The  white-eyed  greenlet  is  a  vocalist  of  such 
extraordinary  versatility  and  power  that  one 
feels  almost  guilty  in  speaking  of  him  under  the 
title  which  stands  at  the  head  of  this  paper. 
How  he  would  scold,  out-carlyling  Carry le,  if  he 
knew  what  were  going  on  !  Nevertheless  I  can- 
not rank  him  with  the  great  singers,  exception- 
ally clever  and  original  as,  beyond  all  dispute, 
he  is  ;  and  for  that  matter,  I  look  upon  the  sol- 
itary as  very  much  his  superior,  in  spite  of  — 
or,  shall  I  say,  because  of  ?  — the  latter 's  greater 
simplicity  and  reserve. 

But  if  we  hesitate  thus  about  these  two  in- 
conspicuous vireos,  whom  half  of  those  who  do 
them  the  honor  to  read  what  is  here  said  about 
them  will  have  never  seen,  how  are  we  to  deal 
with  the  scarlet  tanager?  Our  handsomest 
bird,  and  with  musical  aspirations  as  well,  shall 
we  put  him  into  the  second  class?  It  must  be 
so,  I  fear :  yet  such  justice  is  a  trial  to  the 
flesh  ;  for  what  critic  could  ever  quite  leave  out 
of  account  the  beauty  of  a  prima  donna  in  pass- 
ing judgment  on  her  work  ?  Does  not  her  an- 
gelic face  sing  to  his  eye,  as  Emerson  says  ? 

Formerly  I  gave  the  tanager  credit  for  only 
one  song,  —  the  one  which  suggests  a  robin 


172  MINOR  SONGSTERS. 

laboring  under  an  attack  of  hoarseness  ;  but  I 
have  discovered  that  he  himself  regards  his  chip- 
cherr  as  of  equal  value.  At  least,  I  have  found 
him  perched  at  the  tip  of  a  tall  pine,  and  re- 
peating this  inconsiderable  and  not  very  melo- 
dious trochee  with  all  earnestness  and  persever- 
ance. Sometimes  he  rehearses  it  thus  at  night- 
fall ;  but  even  so  I  cannot  call  it  highly  artistic. 
I  am  glad  to  believe,  however,  that  he  does  not 
care  in  the  least  for  my  opinion.  Why  should 
he  ?  He  is  too  true  a  gallant  to  mind  what 
anybody  else  thinks,  so  long  as  one  is  pleased  ; 
and  she,  no  doubt,  tells  him  every  day  that  he 
is  the  best  singer  in  the  grove.  Beside  his  di- 
vine chip-cherr  the  rhapsody  of  the  wood  thrush 
is  a  mere  nothing,  if  she  is  to  be  the  judge. 
Strange,  indeed,  that  so  shabbily  dressed  a 
creature  as  this  thrush  should  have  the  pre- 
sumption to  attempt  to  sing  at  all !  "  But 
then,"  she  charitably  adds,  "  perhaps  he  is  not 
to  blame ;  such  things  come  by  nature ;  and 
there  are  some  birds,  you  know,  who  cannot  tell 
the  difference  between  noise  and  music." 

We  trust  that  the  tanager  will  improve  as 
time  goes  on  ;  but  in  any  case  we  are  largely  in 
his  debt.  How  we  should  miss  him  if  he  were 
gone,  or  even  were  become  as  rare  as  the  sum- 
mer red-bird  and  the  cardinal  are  in  our  lati- 
tude !  As  it  is,  he  lights  up  our  Northern  woods 


MINOR   SONGSTERS.  173 

with  a  truly  tropical  splendor,  the  like  of  which 
no  other  of  our  birds  can  furnish.  Let  us  hold 
him  in  hearty  esteem,  and  pray  that  he  may 
never  be  exterminated ;  no,  not  even  to  beau- 
tify the  head-gear  of  our  ladies,  who,  if  they 
only  knew  it,  are  already  sufficiently  bewitch- 
ing. 

What  shall  we  say  now  about  the  lesser 
lights  of  that  most  musical  family,  the  finches  ? 
Of  course  the  cardinal  and  rose-breasted  gros- 
beaks are  not  to  be  included  in  any  such  cate- 
gory. Nor  will  /  put  there  the  goldfinch,  the 
linnet,  the  fox-colored  sparrow,  and  the  song 
sparrow.  These,  if  no  more,  shall  stand  among 
the  immortals  ;  so  far,  at  any  rate,  as  my  suf- 
frage counts.  But  who  ever  dreamed  of  calling 
the  chipping  sparrow  a  fine  singer  ?  And  yet, 
who  that  knows  it  does  not  love  his  earnest, 
long-drawn  trill,  dry  and  tuneless  as  it  is  ?  I 
can  speak  for  one,  at  all  events  ;  and  he  always 
has  an  ear  open  for  it  by  the  middle  of  April. 
It  is  the  voice  of  a  friend,  —  a  friend  so  true 
and  gentle  and  confiding  that  we  do  not  care  to 
ask  whether  his  voice  be  smooth  and  his  speech 
eloquent. 

The  chipper's  congener,  the  field  sparrow, 
is  less  neighborly  than  he,  but  a  much  better 
musician.  His  song  is  simplicity  itself ;  yet, 
even  at  its  lowest  estate,  it  never  fails  of  being 


174  MINOR  SONGSTERS. 

truly  melodious,  while  by  one  means  and  an- 
other its  wise  little  author  contrives  to  impart 
to  it  a  very  considerable  variety,  albeit  within 
pretty  narrow  limits.  Last  spring  the  field 
sparrows  were  singing  constantly  from  the  mid- 
dle of  April  till  about  the  10th  of  May,  when 
they  became  entirely  dumb.  Then,  after  a 
week  in  which  I  heard  not  a  note,  they  again 
grew  musical.  I  pondered  not  a  little  over 
their  silence,  but  concluded  that  they  were  just 
then  very  much  occupied  with  preparations  for 
housekeeping. 

The  bird  who  is  called  indiscriminately  the 
grass  finch,  the  bay-winged  bunting,  the  bay- 
winged  sparrow,  the  vesper  sparrow,  and  I  know 
not  what  else  (the  ornithologists  have  nick- 
named him  Pocecetes  gramineus),  is  a  singer 
of  good  parts,  but  is  especially  to  be  com- 
mended for  his  refinement.  In  form  his  music 
is  strikingly  like  the  song  sparrow's  ;  but  the 
voice  is  not  so  loud  and  ringing,  and  the  two 
or  three  opening  notes  are  less  sharply  empha- 
sized. In  general  the  difference  between  the 
two  songs  may  perhaps  be  well  expressed  by 
saying  that  the  one  is  more  declamatory,  the 
other  more  cantabile  ;  a  difference  exactly  such 
as  we  might  have  expected,  considering  the  ner- 
vous, impetuous  disposition  of  the  song  sparrow 
and  the  placidity  of  the  bay-wing. 


MINOR  SONGSTERS.  175 

As  one  of  his  titles  indicates,  the  bay-wing 
is  famous  for  singing  in  the  evening,  when,  of 
course,  his  efforts  are  doubly  acceptable ;  and  I 
can  readily  believe  that  Mr.  Minot  is  correct  in 
his  "  impression  "  that  he  has  once  or  twice 
heard  the  song  in  the  night.  For  while  spend- 
ing a  few  days  at  a  New  Hampshire  hotel, 
which  was  surrounded  with  fine  lawns  such  as 
the  grass  finch  delights  in,  I  happened  to  be 
awake  in  the  morning,  long  before  sunrise,  — 
when,  in  fact,  it  seemed  like  the  dead  of  night, 
—  and  one  or  two  of  these  sparrows  were  pip- 
ing freely.  The  sweet  and  gentle  strain  had 
the  whole  mountain  valley  to  itself.  How 
beautiful  it  was,  set  in  such  a  broad  "  margin 
of  silence,"  I  must  leave  to  be  imagined.  I 
noticed,  moreover,  that  the  birds  sang  almost 
incessantly  the  whole  day  through.  Much  of 
the  time  there  were  two  singing  antiphonally. 
Manifestly,  the  lines  had  fallen  to  them  in 
pleasant  places  :  at  home  for  the  summer  in 
those  luxuriant  Sugar-Hill  fields,  in  continual 
sight  of  yonder  magnificent  mountain  pano- 
rama, with  Lafayette  himself  looming  grandly 
in  the  foreground  ;  while  they,  innocent  souls, 
had  never  so  much  as  heard  of  hotel-keepers 
and  their  bills.  "  Happy  commoners,"  indeed  ! 
Their  "  songs  in  the  night  "  seemed  nowise  sur- 
prising. I  fancied  that  I  could  be  happy  my- 
self in  such  a  case. 


176  MINOR  SONGSTERS. 

Our  familiar  and  ever-welcome  snow-bird, 
known  in  some  quarters  as  the  black  ehipping- 
bird,  and  often  called  the  black  snow-bird,  has 
a  long  trill,  not  altogether  unlike  the  common 
chipper's,  but  in  a  much  higher  key.  It  is  a 
modest  lay,  yet  doubtless  full  of  meaning  ;  for 
the  singer  takes  to  the  very  tip  of  a  tree,  and 
throws  his  head  back  in  the  most  approved 
style.  He  does  his  best,  at  any  rate,  and  so  far 
ranks  with  the  angels;  while,  if  my  testimony 
can  be  of  any  service  to  him,  I  am  glad  to  say 
('t  is  too  bad  the  praise  is  so  equivocal)  that  I 
have  heard  many  human  singers  who  gave  me 
less  pleasure ;  and  further,  that  he  took  £n  in- 
dispensable though  subordinate  part  in  what 
was  one  of  the  most  memorable  concerts  at 
which  I  was  ever  happy  enough  to  be  a  listener. 
This  was  given  some  years  ago  in  an  old  apple- 
orchard  by  a  flock  of  fox-colored  sparrows,  who, 
perhaps  for  that  occasion  only,  had  the  "  valua- 
ble assistance  "  of  a  large  choir  of  snow-birds. 
The  latter  were  twittering  in  every  tree,  while 
to  this  goodly  accompaniment  the  sparrows 
were  singing  their  loud,  clear,  thrush-like  song. 
The  combination  was  felicitous  in  the  extreme. 
I  would  go  a  long  way  to  hear  the  like  again. 

If  distinction  cannot  be  attained  by  one  means, 
who  knows  but  that  it  may  be  by  another  ?  It 
is  denied  us  to  be  great  ?  Very  well,  we  can  at 


MINOR  SONGSTERS.  177 

least  try  the  effect  of  a  little  originality.  Some- 
thing like  this  seems  to  be  the  philosophy  of  the 
indigo-bird  ;  and  he  carries  it  out  both  in  dress 
and  in  song.  As  we  have  said  already,  it  is  usual 
for  birds  to  reserve  the  loudest  and  most  taking 
parts  of  their  music  for  the  close,  though  it  may 
be  doubted  whether  they  have  any  intelligent 
purpose*  in  so  doing.  Indeed,  the  apprehension 
of  a  great  general  truth  such  as  lies  at  the  basis 
of  this  well-nigh  universal  habit,  —  the  truth, 
namely,  that  everything  depends  upon  the  im- 
pression finally  left  on  the  hearer's  mind  ;  that 
to  end  with  some  grand  burst,  or  with  some 
surprisingly  lofty  note,  is  the  only,  or  to  speak 
cautiously,  the  principal,  requisite  to  a  really 
great  musical  performance,  —  the  intelligent 
grasp  of  such  a  truth  as  this,  I  say,  seems  to  me 
to  lie  beyond  the  measure  of  a  bird's  capacity 
in  the  present  stage  of  his  development.  Be 
this  as  it  may,  however,  it  is  noteworthy  that 
the  indigo-bird  exactly  reverses  the  common 
plan.  He  begins  at  his  loudest  and  spright- 
liest,  and  then  runs  off  into  a  diminuendo,  which 
fades  into  silence  almost  imperceptibly.  The 
strain  will  never  be  renowned  for  its  beauty ; 
but  it  is  unique,  and,  further,  is  continued  well 
into  August.  Moreover,  —  and  this  adds  grace 
to  the  most  ordinary  song,  —  it  is  often  let  fall 
while  the  bird  is  on  the  wing. 
12 


178  MINOR  SONGSTERS. 

This  eccentric  genius  has  taken  possession  of 
a  certain  hillside  pasture,  which,  in  another 
way,  belongs  to  me  also.  Year  after  year  he 
comes  back  and  settles  down  upon  it  about  the 
middle  of  May ;  and  I  have  often  been  amused 
to  see  his  mate  —  who  is  not  permitted  to  wear 
a  single  blue  feather  —  drop  out  of  her  nest  in 
a  barberry  bush  and  go  fluttering  off,  both 
wings  dragging  helplessly  through  the  grass.  I 
should  pity  her  profoundly  but  that  I  am  in  no 
doubt  her  injuries  will  rapidly  heal  when  once 
I  am  out  of  sight.  Besides,  I  like  to  imagine 
her  beatitude,  as,  five  minutes  afterward,  she 
sits  again  upon  the  nest,  with  her  heart's  treas- 
ures all  safe  underneath  her.  Many  a  time  was 
a  boy  of  my  acquaintance  comforted  in  some 
ache  or  pain  with  the  words,  "  Never  mind  I 
'twill  feel  better  when  it  gets  well ;  "  and  so, 
sure  enough,  it  always  did.  But  what  a  wicked 
world  this  is,  where  nature  teaches  even  a  bird 
to  play  the  deceiver  ! 

On  the  same  hillside  is  always  to  be  found  the 
chewink,  —  a  creature  whose  dress  and  song  are 
so  unlike  those  of  the  rest  of  his  tribe  that  the 
irreverent  amateur  is  tempted  to  believe  that, 
for  once,  the  men  of  science  have  made  a  mis- 
take. What  has  any  finch  to  do  with  a  call 
like  cherawink,  or  with  such  a  three-colored 
harlequin  suit?  But  it  is  unsafe  to  judge  ac- 


MINOR  SONGSTERS.  179 

cording  to  the  outward  appearance,  in  ornithol- 
ogy as  in  other  matters ;  and  I  have  heard  that 
it  is  only  those  who  are  foolish  as  well  as  igno- 
rant who  indulge  in  off-hand  criticisms  of  wiser 
men's  conclusions.  So  let  us  call  the  towhee  a 
finch,  and  say  no  more  about  it. 

But  whatever  his  lineage,  it  is  plain  that  the 
chewink  is  not  a  bird  to  be  governed  very  strictly 
by  the  traditions  of  the  fathers.  His  usual  song 
is  characteristic  and  pretty,  yet  he  is  so  far 
from  being  satisfied  with  it  that  he  varies  it  con- 
tinually and  in  many  ways,  some  of  them  sadly 
puzzling  to  the  student  who  is  set  upon  telling 
all  the  birds  by  their  voices.  I  remember  well 
enough  the  morning  I  was  inveigled  through  the 
wet  grass  of  two  pastures —  and  that  just  as  I 
was  shod  for  the  city  —  by  a  wonderfully  for- 
eign note,  which  filled  me  with  lively  anticipa- 
tions of  a  new  bird,  but  which  turned  out  to  be 
the  work  of  a  most  innocent-looking  towhee.  It 
was  perhaps  this  same  bird,  or  his  brother,  whom 
I  one  day  heard  throwing  in  between  his  cus- 
tomary clierawinks  a  profusion  of  staccato  notes 
of  widely  varying  pitch,  together  with  little  vol- 
leys of  tinkling  sounds  such  as  his  every-day 
song  concludes  with.  This  medley  was  not  laugh- 
able, like  the  chat's,  which  it  suggested,  but  it 
had  the  same  abrupt,  fragmentary,  and  promis- 
cuous character.  All  in  all,  it  was  what  I  never 


180  MINOR  SONGSTERS. 

should  have  expected  from  this  paragon  of  self- 
possession. 

For  self-control,  as  I  have  elsewhere  said,  is 
Pipilo's  strong  point.  One  afternoon  last  sum- 
mer a  young  friend  and  I  found  ourselves,  as  we 
suspected,  near  a  ehewink's  nest,  and  at  once 
set  out  to  see  which  of  us  should  have  the  honor 
of  the  discovery.  We  searched  diligently,  but 
without  avail,  while  the  father-bird  sat  quietly 
in  a  tree,  calling  with  all  sweetness  and  with 
never  a  trace  of  anger  or  trepidation,  cherawink, 
cherawink.  Finally  we  gave  over  the  hunt,  and 
I  began  to  console  my  companion  and  myself 
for  our  disappointment  by  shaking  in  the  face 
of  the  bird  a  small  tree  which  very  conveniently 
leaned  toward  the  one  in  which  he  was  perched. 
By  rather  vigorous  efforts  I  could  make  this  pass 
back  and  forth  within  a  few  inches  of  his  bill ; 
but  he  utterly  disdained  to  notice  it,  and  kept 
on  calling  as  before.  While  we  were  laughing 
at  his  impudence  (his  impudence  !)  the  mother 
suddenly  appeared,  with  an  insect  in  her  beak, 
and  joined  her  voice  to  her  husband's.  I  was 
just  declaring  how  cruel  as  well  as  useless  it 
was  for  us  to  stay,  when  she  ungratefully  gave 
a  ludicrous  turn  to  what  was  intended  for  a  very 
sage  and  considerate  remark,  by  dropping  almost 
at  my  feet,  stepping  upon  the  edge  of  her  nest, 
and  offering  the  morsel  to  one  of  her  young. 


MINOR  SONGSTERS.  181 

We  watched  the  little  tableau  admiringly  (I  had 
never  seen  a  prettier  show  of  nonchalance),  and 
thanked  our  stars  that  we  had  been  saved  from 
an  involuntary  slaughter  of  the  innocents  while 
trampling  all  about  the  spot.  The  nest,  which 
we  had  tried  so  hard  to  find,  was  in  plain  sight, 
concealed  only  by  the  perfect  agreement  of  its 
color  with  that  of  the  dead  pine-branches  in  the 
midst  of  which  it  was  placed.  The  shrewd  birds 
had  somehow  learned —  by  experience,  perhaps, 
like  ourselves  —  that  those  who  would  escape 
disagreeable  and  perilous  conspicuity  must  con- 
form as  closely  as  possible  to  the  world  around 
them. 

According  to  my  observation,  the  towhee  is 
not  much  given  to  singing  after  July  ;  but  he 
keeps  up  his  call,  which  is  little  less  musical 
than  his  song,  till  his  departure  in  late  Septem- 
ber. At  that  time  of  the  year  the  birds  collect 
together  in  their  favorite  haunts  ;  and  I  remem- 
ber my  dog's  running  into  the  edge  of  a  road- 
side pasture  among  some  cedar-trees,  when  there 
broke  out  such  a  chorus  of  cherawinks  that  I 
was  instantly  reminded  of  a  swamp  full  of  frogs 
in  April. 

After  the  tanager  the  Baltimore  oriole  (named 
for  Lord  Baltimore,  whose  colors  he  wears)  is 
probably  the  most  gorgeous,  as  he  is  certainly 
one  of  the  best  known,  of  New  England  birds. 


182  MINOR  SONGSTERS. 

He  has  discovered  that  men,  bad  as  they  are, 
are  less  to  be  dreaded  than  hawks  and  weasels, 
and  so,  after  making  sure  that  his  wife  is  not 
subject  to  sea-sickness,  he  swings  his  nest  boldly 
from  a  swaying  shade-tree  branch,  in  full  view 
of  whoever  may  choose  to  look  at  it.  Some 
morning  in  May  —  not  far  from  the  10th  —  you 
will  wake  to  hear  him  fifing  in  the  elm  before 
your  window.  He  has  come  in  the  night,  and 
is  already  making  himself  at  home.  Once  I  saw 
a  pair  who  on  the  very  first  morning  had  begun 
to  get  together  materials  for  a  nest.  His  whistle 
is  one  of  the  clearest  and  loudest,  but  he  makes 
little  pretensions  to  music.  I  have  been  pleased 
and  interested,  however,  to  see  how  tuneful  he 
becomes  in  August,  after  most  other  birds  have 
ceased  to  sing,  and  after  a  long  interval  of  silence 
on  his  own  part.  Early  and  late  he  pipes  and 
chatters,  as  if  he  imagined  that  the  spring  were 
really  coming  back  again  forthwith.  What  the 
explanation  of  this  lyrical  revival  may  be  I  have 
never  been  able  to  gather ;  but  the  fact  itself  is 
very  noticeable,  so  that  it  would  not  be  amiss  to 
call  the  "  golden  robin  "  the  bird  of  August. 

The  oriole's  dusky  relatives  have  the-  organs 
of  song  well  developed ;  and  although  most  of 
the  species  have  altogether  lost  the  art  of  music, 
there  are  none  of  them,  even  now,  that  do  not 
betray  more  or  less  of  the  musical  impulse.  The 


MINOR  SONGSTERS.  183 

red-winged  blackbird,  indeed,  has  some  really 
praiseworthy  notes;  and  to  me  —  for  personal 
reasons  quite  aside  from  any  question  about  its 
lyrical  value  —  his  rough  cucurree  is  one  of  the 
very  pleasantest  of  sounds.  For  that  matter, 
however,  there  is  no  one  of  our  birds  —  be  he, 
in  technical  language,  "  oscine  "  or  "  non-oscine  " 
—  whose  voice  is  not,  in  its  own  way,  agreeable. 
Except  a  few  uncommonly  superstitious  people, 
who  does  not  enjoy  the  whip-poor-will's  trisyl- 
labic exhortation,  and  the  yak  of  the  night- 
hawk  ?  Bob  White's  weather  predictions,  also, 
have  a  wild  charm  all  their  own,  albeit  his 
persistent  No  more  wet  is  often  sadly  out  of  ac- 
cord with  the  farmer's  hopes.  We  have  no  more 
untuneful  bird,  surely,  than  the  cow  bunting ; 
yet  even  the  serenades  of  this  shameless  polyg- 
amist  have  one  merit,  —  they  are  at  least  amus- 
ing. With  what  infinite  labor  he  brings  forth  his 
forlorn,  broken-winded  whistle,  while  his  tail 
twitches  convulsively,  as  if  tail  and  larynx  were 
worked  by  the  same  spring  ! 

The  judging,  comparing  spirit,  the  conscien- 
tious dread  of  being  ignorantly  happy  when  a 
broader  culture  would  enable  us  to  be  intelli- 
gently miserable,  —  this  has  its  place,  unques- 
tionably, in  concert  halls  ;  but  if  we  are  to  make 
the  best  use  of  out-door  minstrelsy,  we  must 
learn  to  take  things  as  we  find  them,  throwing 


184  MINOR  SONGSTERS. 

criticism  to  the  winds.  Having  said  which,  I 
am  bound  to  go  further  still,  and  to  acknowledge 
that  on  looking  back  over  the  first  part  of  this 
paper  I  feel  more  than  half  ashamed  of  the 
strictures  therein  passed  upon  the  bluebird  and 
the  brown  thrush.  When  I  heard  the  former's 
salutation  from  a  Boston  Common  elm  on  the 
morning  of  the  22d  of  February  last,  I  said  to 
myself  that  no  music,  not  even  the  nightingale's, 
could  ever  be  sweeter.  Let  him  keep  on,  by  all 
means,  in  his  own  artless  way,  paying  no  heed 
to  what  I  have  foolishly  written  about  his  short- 
comings. As  for  the  thrasher's  smile-provoking 
gutturals,  I  recall  that  even  in  the  symphonies 
of  the  greatest  of  masters  there  are  here  and 
there  quaint  bassoon  phrases,  which  have,  and 
doubtless  were  intended  to  have,  a  somewhat 
whimsical  effect ;  and  remembering  this,  I  am 
ready  to  own  that  I  was  less  wise  than  I  thought 
myself  when  I  found  so  much  fault  with  the 
thrush's  performance.  I  have  sins  enough  to 
answer  for  :  may  this  never  be  added  to  them, 
that  I  set  up  my  taste  against  that  of  Beethoven 
and  HarporhyncTius  rufus. 


WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON. 


Not  much  to  find,  not  much  to  see; 
But  the  air  was  fresh,  the  path  was  free. 

W.  ALLINGHAM. 


WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON. 


A  WEED  has  been  defined  as  a  plant  the  use 
of  which  is  not  yet  discovered.  If  the  defini- 
tion be  correct  there  are  few  weeds.  For  the 
researches  of  others  beside  human  investigators 
must  be  taken  into  the  account.  What  we  com- 
placently call  the  world  below  us  is  full  of  in- 
telligence. Every  animal  has  a  lore  of  its  own ; 
not  one  of  them  but  is  —  what  the  human 
scholar  is  more  and  more  coming  to  be  —  a  spe- 
cialist. In  these  days  the  most  eminent  bot- 
anists are  not  ashamed  to  compare  notes  with 
the  insects,  since  it  turns  out  that  these  bits  of 
animate  wisdom  long  ago  anticipated  some  of 
the  latest  improvements  of  our  modern  system- 
atists.1  We  may  see  the  red  squirrel  eating, 

1  See  a  letter  by  Dr.  Fritz  Miiller,  "Butterflies  as  Botanists  :  " 
Nature,  vol.  xxx.  p.  240.  Of  similar  import  is  the  case,  cited  by 
Dr.  Asa  Gray  (in  the  American  Journal  of  Science*  November, 
1884,  p.  325),  of  two  species  of  plantain  found  in  this  country, 
which  students  have  only  of  late  discriminated,  although  it  turns 
out  that  the  cows  have  all  along  known  them  apart,  eating  one  and 
declining  the  other,  —  the  bovine  taste  being  more  exact,  it  would 
seem,  or  at  any  rate  more  prompt,  than  the  botanist's  lens. 


188     WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON. 

with  real  epicurean  zest,  mushrooms,  the  white 
and  tender  flesh  of  which  we  have  ourselves 
looked  at  longingly,  but  have  never  dared  to 
taste.  How  amused  he  would  be  (I  fear  he 
would  even  be  rude  enough  to  snicker)  were 
you  to  caution  him  against  poison  !  As  if  Sci- 
urus  Hudsonius  did  n't  know  what  he  were 
about !  Why  should  men  be  so  provincial  as 
to  pronounce  anything  worthless  merely  because 
they  can  do  nothing  with  it  ?  The  clover  is  not 
without  value,  although  the  robin  and  the  ori- 
ole may  agree  to  think  so.  We  know  better ; 
and  so  do  the  rabbits  and  the  bumblebees.  The 
wise  respect  their  own  quality  wherever  they 
see  it,  and  are  thankful  for  a  good  hint  from  no 
matter  what  quarter.  Here  is  a  worthy  neigh- 
bor of  mine  whom  I  hear  every  summer  com- 
plaining of  the  chicory  plants  which  disfigure 
the  roadside  in  front  of  her  windows.  She 
wishes  they  were  exterminated,  every  one  of 
them.  And  they  are  homely,  there  is  no  deny- 
ing it,  for  all  the  beauty  of  their  individual 
sky-blue  flowers.  No  wonder  a  neat  housewife 
finds  them  an  eyesore.  But  I  never  pass  the 
spot  in  August  (I  do  not  pass  it  at  all  after 
that)  without  seeing  that  hers  is  only  one  side 
of  the  story.  My  approach  is  sure  to  startle 
a  few  goldfinches  (and  they  too  are  most  esti- 
mable neighbors),  to  whom  these  scraggy  herbs 


WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON.  189 

are  quite  as  useful  as  my  excellent  lady's  apple- 
trees  and  pear-trees  are  to  her.  I  watch  them 
as  they  circle  about  in  musical  undulations,  and 
then  drop  down  again  to  finish  their  repast ; 
and  I  perceive  that,  in  spite  of  its  unsightli- 
ness,  the  chicory  is  not  a  weed,  —  its  use  has 
been  discovered. 

In  truth,  the  lover  of  birds  soon  ceases  to 
feel  the  uncomeliness  of  plants  of  this  sort ;  he 
even  begins  to  have  a  peculiar  and  kindly  in- 
terest in  them.  A  piece  of  "  waste  ground,"  as 
it  is  called,  an  untidy  garden,  a  wayside  thicket 
of  golden-rods  and  asters,  pig-weed  and  even- 
ing primrose,  —  these  come  to  be  almost  as 
attractive  a  sight  to  him  as  a  thrifty  field  of 
wheat  is  to  an  agriculturalist.  Taking  his  cue 
from  the  finches,  he  separates  plants  into  two 
grand  divisions,  —  those  that  shed  their  seeds 
in  the  fall,  and  those  that  hold  them  through 
the  winter.  The  latter,  especially  if  they  are 
of  a  height  to  overtop  a  heavy  snow-fall,  are 
friends  in  need  to  his  clients  ;  and  he  is  certain 
to  have  marked  a  few  places  within  the  range 
of  his  every-day  walks  where,  thanks  to  some- 
body's shiftlessness,  perhaps,  they  have  been 
allowed  to  flourish. 

It  is  not  many  years  since  there  were  several 
such  winter  gardens  of  the  birds  in  Common- 
wealth Avenue,  —  vacant  house-lots  overgrown 


190  WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON. 

with  tall  weeds.  Hither  came  flocks  of  gold- 
finches, red -poll  linnets,  and  snow  buntings; 
and  thither  I  went  to  watch  them.  It  hap- 
pened, I  remember,  that  the  last  two  species, 
which  are  not  to  be  met  with  in  this  region 
every  season,  were  unusually  abundant  during 
the  first  or  second  year  of  my  ornithological 
enthusiasm.  Great  was  the  delight  with  which 
I  added  them  to  the  small  but  rapidly  increas- 
ing list  of  my  feathered  acquaintances. 

The  red-polls  and  the  goldfinches  often  travel 
together,  or  at  least  are  often  to  be  found  feed- 
ing in  company ;  and  as  they  resemble  each 
other  a  good  deal  in  size,  general  appearance, 
and  ways,  the  casual  observer  is  very  likely  not 
to  discriminate  between  them.  Only  the  sum- 
mer before  the  time  of  which  I  speak  I  had 
spent  a  vacation  at  Mount  Wachusett ;  and  a 
resident  of  Princeton,  noticing  my  attention  to 
the  birds  (a  taste  so  peculiar  is  not  easily  con- 
cealed), had  one  day  sought  an  interview  with 
me  to  inquire  whether  the  u  yellow-bird  "  did 
not  remain  in  Massachusetts  through  the  win- 
ter. I  explained  that  we  had  two  birds  which 
commonly  went  by  that  name,  and  asked 
whether  he  meant  the  one  with  a  black  fore- 
head and  black  wings  and  tail.  Yes,  he  said, 
that  was  the  one.  I  assured  him,  of  course, 
that  this  bird,  the  goldfinch,  did  stay  with  us 


WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON.     191 

all  the  year  round,  and  that  whoever  had  in- 
formed him  to  the  contrary  must  have  under- 
stood him  to  be  speaking  about  the  golden 
warbler.  He  expressed  his  gratification,  but 
declared  that  he  had  really  entertained  no 
doubt  of  the  fact  himself ;  he  had  often  seen 
the  birds  on  the  mountain  when  he  had  been 
cutting  wood  there  in  midwinter.  At  such 
times,  he  added,  they  were  very  tame,  and 
would  come  about  his  feet  to  pick  up  crumbs 
while  he  was  eating  his  dinner.  Then  he  went 
on  to  tell  me  that  at  that  season  of  the  year 
their  plumage  took  on  more  or  less  of  a  red- 
dish tinge  :  he  had  seen  in  the  same  flock  some 
with  no  trace  of  red,  others  that  were  slightly 
touched  with  it,  and  others  still  of  a  really 
bright  color.  At  this  I  had  nothing  to  say, 
save  that  his  red  birds,  whatever  else  they 
were,  could  not  have  been  goldfinches.  But 
next  winter,  when  I  saw  the  "  yellow-birds  " 
and  the  red  -  poll  linnets  feeding  together  in 
Commonwealth  Avenue,  I  thought  at  once  of 
my  Wachusett  friend.  Here  was  the  very 
scene  he  had  so  faithfully  described,  —  some 
of  the  flock  with  no  red  at  all,  some  with  red 
crowns,  and  a  few  with  bright  carmine  crowns 
and  breasts.  They  remained  all  winter,  and 
no  doubt  thought  the  farmers  of  Boston  a  very 
good  and  wise  set,  to  cultivate  the  evening 


192  WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON. 

primrose  so  extensively.  This  plant,  like  the 
succory,  is  of  an  ungraceful  aspect ;  yet  it  has 
sweet  and  beautiful  blossoms,  and  as  an  herb 
bearing  seed  is  in  the  front  rank.  I  doubt 
whether  we  have  any  that  surpass  it,  the  birds 
being  judges. 

Many  stories  are  told  of  the  red-polls'  fear- 
lessness and  ready  reconciliation  to  captivity, 
as  well  as  of  their  constancy  to  each  other.  I 
have  myself  stood  still  in  the  midst  of  a  flock, 
until  they  were  feeding  round  my  feet  so  closely 
that  it  looked  easy  enough  to  catch  one  or  two 
of  them  with  a  butterfly  net.  Strange  that 
creatures  so  gentle  and  seemingly  so  delicately 
organized  should  choose  to  live  in  the  regions 
about  the  North  Pole  !  Why  should  they  pre- 
fer Labrador  and  Greenland,  Iceland  and  Spitz- 
bergen,  to  more  southern  countries  ?  Why  ? 
Well,  possibly  for  no  worse  a  reason  than  this, 
that  these  are  the  lands  of  their  fathers.  Other 
birds,  it  may  be,  have  grown  discouraged,  and 
one  after  another  ceased  to  come  back  to  their 
native  shores  as  the  rigors  of  the  climate  have 
increased ;  but  these  little  patriots  are  still  faith- 
ful. Spitzbergen  is  home,  and  every  spring  they 
make  the  long  and  dangerous  passage  to  it.  All 
praise  to  them  ! 

If  any  be  ready  to  call  this  an  over-refine- 
ment, deeming  it  incredible  that  beings  so  small 


WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON.     193 

and  lowly  should  come  so  near  to  human  senti- 
ment and  virtue,  let  such  not  be  too  hasty  with 
their  dissent.  Surely  they  may  in  reason  wait 
till  they  can  point  to  at  least  one  country  where 
the  men  are  as  universally  faithful  to  their 
wives  and  children  as  the  birds  are  to  theirs. 

The  red-poll  linnets,  as  I  have  said,  are  ir- 
regular visitors  in  this  region ;  several  years 
may  pass,  and  not  one  be  seen  ;  but  the  gold- 
finch we  have  with  us  always.  Easily  recog- 
nized as  he  is,  there  are  many  well-educated 
New-Englanders,  I  fear,  who  do  not  know  him, 
even  by  sight ;  yet  when  that  distinguished 
ornithologist,  the  Duke  of  Argyll,  comes  to 
publish  his  impressions  of  this  country,  he  avers 
that  he  has  been  hardly  more  interested  in  the 
"glories  of  Niagara"  than  in  this  same  little 
yellow-bird,  which  he  saw  for  the  first  time 
while  looking  from  his  hotel  window  at  the 
great  cataract.  u  A  golden  finch,  indeed  !  "  he 
exclaims.  Such  a  tribute  as  this  from  the  pen 
of  a  British  nobleman  ought  to  give  Astragali- 
nus  tristis  immediate  entrance  into  the  very 
best  of  American  society. 

It  is  common  to  say  that  the  goldfinches  wan- 
der about  the  country  during  the  winter.  Un- 
doubtedly this  is  true  in  a  measure ;  but  I  have 
seen  things  which  lead  me  to  suspect  that  the 
statement  is  sometimes  made  too  sweeping. 

13 


194  WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON. 

Last  winter,  for  example,  a  flock  took  up  their 
quarters  in  a  certain  neglected  piece  of  ground 
on  the  side  of  Beacon  Street,  close  upon  the 
boundary  between  Boston  and  Brookline,  and 
remained  there  nearly  or  quite  the  whole  sea- 
son. Week  after  week  I  saw  them  in  the  same 
place,  accompanied  always  by  half  a  dozen  tree 
sparrows.  They  had  found  a  spot  to  their 
mind,  with  plenty  of  succory  and  evening  prim- 
rose, and  were  wise  enough  not  to  forsake  it  for 
any  uncertainty. 

The  goldfinch  loses  his  bright  feathers  and 
canary-like  song  as  the  cold  season  approaches, 
but  not  even  a  New  England  winter  can  rob 
him  of  his  sweet  call  and  his  cheerful  spirits  ; 
and  for  one,  I  think  him  never  more  winsome 
than  when  he  hangs  in  graceful  attitudes  above 
a  snowbank,  on  a  bleak  January  morning. 

Glad  as  we  are  of  the  society  of  the  goldfinches 
and  the  red-polls  at  this  time  of  the  year,  we 
cannot  easily  rid  ourselves  of  a  degree  of  solici- 
tude for  their  comfort ;  especially  if  we  chance 
to  come  upon  them  after  sunset  on  some  bit- 
terly cold  day,  and  mark  with  what  a  nervous 
haste  they  snatch  here  and  there  a  seed,  making 
the  utmost  of  the  few  remaining  minutes  of  twi- 
light. They  will  go  to  bed  hungry  and  cold, 
we  think,  and  were  surely  better  off  in  a  milder 
clime.  But,  if  I  am  to  judge  from  my  own  ex- 


WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON.          195 

perience,  the  snow  buntings  awaken  no  such 
emotions.  Arctic  explorers  by  instinct,  they 
come  to  us  only  with  real  arctic  weather,  and 
almost  seem  to  be  themselves  a  part  of  the 
snow-storm  with  which  they  arrive.  No  matter 
what  they  are  doing :  running  along  the  street 
before  an  approaching  sleigh ;  standing  on  a 
wayside  fence  ;  jumping  up  from  the  ground  to 
snatch  the  stem  of  a  weed,  and  then  setting  at 
work  hurriedly  to  gather  the  seeds  they  have 
shaken  down  ;  or,  best  of  all,  skimming  over 
the  snow  in  close  order,  their  white  breasts 
catching  the  sun  as  they  veer  this  way  or  that, 
—  whatever  they  may  be  doing,  they  are  the 
most  picturesque  of  all  our  cold-weather  birds. 
In  point  of  suspiciousness  their  behavior  is  very 
different  at  different  times,  as,  for  that  matter, 
is  true  of  birds  generally.  Seeing  the  flock 
alight  in  a  low  roadside  lot,  you  steal  silently 
to  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk  to  look  over  upon 
them.  There  they  are,  sure  enough,  walking 
and  running  about,  only  a  few  rods  distant. 
What  lovely  creatures,  and  how  prettily  they 
walk !  But  just  as  you  are  wishing,  perhaps, 
that  they  were  a  little  nearer,  they  begin  to  fly 
from  right  under  your  feet.  You  search  the 
ground  eagerly,  right  and  left,  but  not  a  bird 
can  you  discover;  and  still  they  continue  to 
start  up,  now  here,  now  there,  till  you  are 


196  WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTOtf. 

ready  to  question  whether,  indeed,  "  eyes  were 
made  for  seeing."  The  "  snow-flakes  "  wear 
protective  colors,  and,  like  most  other  animals., 
are  of  opinion  that,  for  such  as  lack  the  receipt 
of  fern-seed,  there  is  often  nothing  safer  than 
to  sit  still.  The  worse  the  weather,  the  less 
timorous  they  are,  for  with  them,  as  with  wiser 
heads,  one  thought  drives  out  another ;  and  it 
is  nothing  uncommon,  when  times  are  hard,  to 
see  them  stay  quietly  upon  the  fence  while  a 
sleigh  goes  past,  or  suffer  a  foot  passenger  to 
come  again  and  again  within  a  few  yards. 

It  gives  a  lively  touch  to  the  imagination  to 
overtake  these  beautiful  strangers  in  the  middle 
of  Beacon  Street ;  particularly  if  one  has  lately 
been  reading  about  them  in  some  narrative  of 
Siberian  travel.  Coming  from  so  far,  associa- 
ting in  flocks,  with  costumes  so  becoming  and 
yet  so  unusual,  they  might  be  expected  to  at- 
tract universal  notice,  and  possibly  to  get  into 
the  newspapers.  But  there  is  a  fashion  even 
about  seeing ;  and  of  a  thousand  persons  who 
may  take  a  Sunday  promenade  over  the  Mill- 
dam,  while  these  tourists  from  the  North  Pole 
are  there,  it  is  doubtful  whether  a  dozen  are 
aware  of  their  presence.  Birds  feeding  in  the 
street  ?  Yes,  yes ;  English  sparrows,  of  course  ; 
we  haven't  any  other  birds  in  Boston  nowa- 
days, you  know. 


WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT   BOSTON.  197 

With  the  pine  grosbeaks  the  case  is  different. 
When  a  man  sees  a  company  of  rather  large 
birds  about  the  evergreens  in  his  door-yard,  most 
of  them  of  a  neutral  ashy-gray  tint,  but  one  or 
two  in  suits  of  rose-color,  he  is  pretty  certain  to 
feel  at  least  a  momentary  curiosity  about  them. 
Their  slight  advantage  in  size  counts  for  some- 
thing ;  for,  without  controversy,  the  bigger  the 
bird  the  more  worthy  he  is  of  notice.  And 
then  the  bright  color  !  The  very  best  men  are 
as  yet  but  imperfectly  civilized,  and  there  must 
be  comparatively  few,  even  of  Bostonians,  in 
whom  there  is  not  some  lingering  susceptibility 
to  the  fascination  of  red  feathers.  Add  to  these 
things  the  fact  that  the  grosbeaks  are  extremely 
confiding,  and  much  more  likely  than  the  bunt- 
ings to  be  seen  from  the  windows  of  the  house, 
and  you  have,  perhaps,  a  sufficient  explanation 
of  the  more  general  interest  they  excite.  Like 
the  snow  buntings  and  the  red-polls,  they  roam 
over  the  higher  latitudes  of  Europe,  Asia,  and 
America,  and  make  only  irregular  visits  to  our 
corner  of  the  world.1 

I  cannot  boast  of  any  intimate  acquaintance 
with  them.  I  have  never  caught  them  in  a  net, 
or  knocked  them  over  with  a  club,  as  other  per- 

1  Unlike  the  snow  bunting  and  the  red-poll,  however,  the  pine 
grosbeak  is  believed  to  breed  sparingly  in  Northern  New  Eng- 
land. 


198  WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON. 

sons  have  done,  although  I  have  seen  them 
when  their  tameness  promised  success  to  any 
such  loving  experiment.  Indeed,  it  was  sev- 
eral years  before  my  lookout  for  them  was  re- 
warded. Then,  one  day,  I  saw  a  flock  of  about 
ten  fly  across  Beacon  Street,  —  on  the  edge  of 
Brookline,  —  and  alight  in  an  apple-tree  ;  at 
which  I  forthwith  clambered  over  the  picket- 
fence  after  them,  heedless  alike  of  the  deep 
snow  and  the  surprise  of  any  steady-going  cit- 
izen who  might  chance  to  witness  my  high- 
handed proceeding.  Some  of  the  birds  were 
feeding  upon  the  rotten  apples ;  picking  them 
off  the  tree,  and  taking  them  to  one  of  the  large 
main  branches  or  to  the  ground,  and  there  tear- 
ing them  to  pieces,  —  for  the  sake  of  the  seeds, 
I  suppose.  The  rest  sat  still,  doing  nothing. 
I  was  most  impressed  with  the  exceeding  mild- 
ness and  placidity  of  their  demeanor;  as  if 
they  had  time  enough,  plenty  to  eat,  and  noth- 
ing to  fear.  Their  only  notes  were  in  quality 
much  like  the  goldfinch's,  and  hardly  louder, 
but  without  his  characteristic  inflection.  I  left 
the  whole  company  seated  idly  in  a  maple-tree, 
where,  to  all  appearance,  they  proposed,  to  ob- 
serve the  remainder  of  the  day  as  a  Sabbath. 

Last  winter  the  grosbeaks  were  uncommonly 
abundant.  I  found  a  number  of  them  within  a 
few  rods  of  the  place  just  mentioned;  this  time 


WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON.     199 

in  evergreen  trees,  and  so  near  the  road  that  I 
had  no  call  to  commit  trespass.  Evergreens  are 
their  usual  resort,  —  so,  at  least,  I  gather  from 
books,  —  but  I  have  seen  them  picking  up  prov- 
ender from  a  bare-looking  last  year's  garden. 
Natives  of  the  inhospitable  North,  they  have 
learned  by  long  experience  how  to  adapt  them- 
selves to  circumstances.  If  one  resource  fails, 
there  is  always  another  to  be  tried.  Let  us 
hope  that  they  even  know  how  to  show  fight 
upon  occasion. 

The  purple  finch  —  a  small  copy  of  the  pine 
grosbeak,  as  the  indigo  bird  is  of  the  blue  gros- 
beak—  is  a  summer  rather  than  a  winter  bird 
with  us  ;  yet  he  sometimes  passes  the  cold  sea- 
son in  Eastern  Massachusetts,  and  even  in 
Northern  New  Hampshire.  I  have  never  heard 
him  sing  more  gloriously  than  once  when  the 
ground  was  deep  under  the  snow;  a  wonder- 
fully sweet  and  protracted  warble,  poured  out 
while  the  singer  circled  about  in  the  air  with  a 
kind  of  half-hovering  flight. 

As  I  was  walking  briskly  along  a  West  End 
street,  one  cold  morning  in  March,  I  heard  a 
bird's  note  close  at  hand,  and,  looking  down, 
discovered  a  pair  of  these  finches  in  a  front 
yard.  The  male,  in  bright  plumage,  was  flit- 
ting about  his  mate,  calling  anxiously,  while 
she,  poor  thing,  sat  motionless  upon  the  snow, 


200  WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON. 

too  sick  or  too  badly  exhausted  to  fly.  I 
stroked  her  feathers  gently  while  she  perched 
on  my  finger,  and  then  resumed  my  walk  ;  first 
putting  her  into  a  little  more  sheltered  position 
on  the  sill  of  a  cellar  window,  and  promising  to 
call  on  my  way  back,  when,  if  she  were  no  bet- 
ter, I  would  take  her  home  with  me,  and  give 
her  a  warm  room  and  good  nursing.  When  I 
returned,  however,  she  was  nowhere  to  be 
found.  Her  mate,  I  regret  to  say,  both  on  his 
own  account  and  for  the  sake  of  the  story,  had 
taken  wing  and  disappeared  the  moment  I  en- 
tered the  yard.  Possibly  he  came  back  and  en- 
couraged her  to  fly  off  with  him  ;  or  perhaps 
some  cat  made  a  Sunday  breakfast  of  her.  The 
truth  will  never  be  known  ;  our  vigilant  city 
police  take  no  cognizance  of  tragedies  so  hum- 
ble. 

For  several  years  a  few  song  sparrows  —  a 
pair  or  two,  at  least  —  have  wintered  in  a  piece 
of  ground  just  beyond  the  junction  of  Beacon 
street  and  Brookline  Avenue.  I  have  grown  ac- 
customed to  listen  for  their  tseep  as  I  go  by  the 
spot,  and  occasionally  I  catch  sight  of  one  of  them 
perched  upon  a  weed,  or  diving  under  the  plank 
sidewalk.  It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  know  the 
history  of  the  colony  :  how  it  started ;  whether 
the  birds  are  the  same  year  after  year,  as  I  sup- 
pose to  be  the  case  ;  and  why  this  particular 


WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON.  201 

site  was  selected.  The  lot  is  small,  with  no 
woods  or  bushy  thicket  near,  while  it  has  build- 
ings in  one  corner,  and  is  bounded  on  its  three 
sides  by  the  streets  and  the  railway ;  but  it  is 
full  of  a  rank  growth  of  weeds,  especially  a 
sturdy  species  of  aster  and  the  evergreen  gold- 
en-rod, and  I  suspect  that  the  plank  walk,  which 
on  one  side  is  raised  some  distance  from  the 
ground,  is  found  serviceable  for  shelter  in  severe 
weather,  as  it  is  certainly  made  to  take  the  place 
of  shrubbery  for  purposes  of  concealment. 

Fortunately,  birds,  even  those  of  the  same 
species,  are  not  all  exactly  alike  in  their  tastes 
and  manner  of  life.  So,  while  by  far  the  greater 
part  of  our  song  sparrows  leave  us  in  the  fall, 
there  are  always  some  who  prefer  to  stay.  They 
have  strong  local  attachments,  perhaps  ;  or  they 
dread  the  fatigue  and  peril  of  the  journey ;  or 
they  were  once  incapacitated  for  flight  when 
their  companions  went  away,  and,  having  found 
a  Northern  winter  not  so  unendurable  as  they 
had  expected,  have  since  done  from  choice  what 
at  first  they  did  of  necessity.  Whatever  their 
reasons,  —  and  we  cannot  be  presumed  to  have 
guessed  half  of  them,  —  at  all  events  a  goodly 
number  of  song  sparrows  do  winter  in  Massachu- 
setts, where  they  open  the  musical  season  before 
the  first  of  the  migrants  make  their  appearance. 
I  doubt,  however,  whether  many  of  them  choose 


202  WINTER  BIRDS   ABOUT  BOSTON. 

camping  grounds  so  exposed  and  public  as  this 
in  the  rear  of  the  "  Half-way  House." 

Our  only  cold-weather  thrushes  are  the  rob- 
ins. They  may  be  found  any  time  in  favorable 
situations ;  and  even  in  so  bleak  a  place  as  Bos- 
ton Common  I  have  seen  them  in  every  month 
of  the  year  except  February.  This  exception, 
moreover,  is  more  apparent  than  real,  —  at  the 
most  a  matter  of  but  twenty-four  hours,  since, 
I  once  saw  four  birds  in  a  tree  near  the  Frog 
Pond  on  the  last  day  of  January.  The  house 
sparrows  were  as  much  surprised  as  I  was  at 
the  sight,  and,  with  characteristic  urbanity,  gath- 
ered from  far  and  near  to  sit  in  the  same  tree 
with  the  visitors,  and  stare  at  them. 

We  cannot  help  being  grateful  to  the  robins 
and  the  song  sparrows,  who  give  us  their  soci- 
ety at  so  great  a  cost ;  but  their  presence  can 
scarcely  be  thought  to  enliven  the  season. 
At  its  best  their  bearing  is  only  that  of  patient 
submission  to  the  inevitable.  They  remind  us 
of  the  summer  gone  and  the  summer  coming, 
rather  than  brighten  the  winter  that  is  now 
upon  us  ;  like  friends  who  commiserate  us  in 
some  affliction,  but  are  not  able  to  comfort  us. 
How  different  the  chickadee !  In  the  worst 
weather  his  greeting  is  never  of  condolence,  but 
of  good  cheer.  He  has  no  theory  upon  the  sub- 
ject, probably ;  he  is  no  Shepherd  of  Salisbury 


WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON.     203 

Plain ;  but  he  knows  better  than  to  waste  the 
exhilarating  air  of  this  wild  and  frosty  day  in 
reminiscences  of  summer  time.  It  is  a  pretty- 
sounding  couplet,  — 

"  Thou  hast  no  sorrow  in  thy  song, 
No  winter  in  thy  year,"  — 

but  rather  incongruous,  he  would  think.  Chick- 
adee,  dee,  he  calls,  —  chickadee,  d'ee  ;  and  though 
the  words  have  no  exact  equivalent  in  English, 
their  meaning  is  felt  by  all  such  as  are  worthy 
to  hear  them. 

Are  the  smallest  birds  really  the  most  cour- 
ageous, or  does  an  unconscious  sympathy  on  our 
part  inevitably  give  them  odds  in  the  compari- 
son ?  Probably  the  latter  supposition  comes 
nearest  the  truth.  When  a  sparrow  chases  a 
butcher-bird  we  cheer  the  sparrow,  and  then 
when  a  humming-bird  puts  to  flight  a  sparrow, 
we  cheer  the  humming-bird ;  we  side  with  the 
kingbird  against  the  crow,  and  with  the  vireo 
against  the  kingbird.  It  is  a  noble  trait  of 
human  nature  —  though  we  are  somewhat  too 
ready  to  boast  of  it  —  that  we  like,  as  we  say, 
to  see  the  little  fellow  at  the  top.  These  re- 
marks are  made,  not  with  any  reference  to  the 
chickadee,  —  I  admit  no  possibility  of  exagger- 
ation in  his  case,  —  but  as  leading  to  a  men- 
tion of  the  golden-crested  kinglet.  He  is  the 
least  of  all  our  winter  birds,  and  one  of  the  most 


204  WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON. 

engaging.  Emerson's  "atom  in  full  breath" 
and  "  scrap  of  valor"  would  apply  to  him  even 
better  than  to  the  titmouse.  He  says  little, — 
zee,  zee,  zee  is  nearly  the  limit  of  his  vocabu- 
.  lary  ;  but  his  lively  demeanor  and  the  grace 
and  agility  of  his  movements  are  in  themselves 
an  excellent  language,  speaking  infallibly  a  con- 
tented mind.  (It  is  a  fact,  on  which  I  forbear 
to  moralize,  that  birds  seldom  look  unhappy 
except  when  they  are  idle.)  His  diminutive  size 
attracts  attention  even  from  those  who  rarely 
notice  such  things.  About  the  first  of  Decem- 
ber, a  year  ago,  I  was  told  of  a  man  who  had 
shot  a  humming-bird  only  a  few  days  before  in 
the  vicinity  of  Boston.  Of  course  I  expressed  a 
polite  surprise,  and  assured  my  informant  that 
such  a  remarkable  capture  ought  by  all  means 
to  be  put  on  record  in  "  The  Auk,"  as  every 
ornithologist  in  the  land  would  be  interested 
in  it.  OK  this  he  called  upon  the  lucky  sports- 
man's brother,  who  happened  to  be  standing  by, 
to  corroborate  the  story.  Yes,  the  latter  said, 
the  fact  was  as  had  been  stated.  "  But  then," 
he  continued,  u  the  bird  did  n't  have  a  long  bill, 
like  a  humming-bird  ; "  and  when  I  suggested 
that  perhaps  its  crown  was  yellow,  bordered 
with  black,  he  said,  "  Yes,  yes  ;  that 's  the  bird, 
exactly."  So  easy  are  startling  discoveries  to 
an  observer  who  has  just  the  requisite  amount 


WINTER   BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON.  205 

of  knowledge,  —  enough,  and  (especially)  not 
too  much ! 

The  brown  creeper  is  quite  as  industrious  and 
good-humored  as  the  kinglet,  but  he  is  less  tak- 
ing in  his  personal  appearance  and  less  roman- 
tic in  his  mode  of  life.  The  same  may  be  said 
of  our  two  black-and-white  woodpeckers,  the 
downy  and  the  hairy  ;  while  their  more  showy 
but  less  hardy  relative,  the  flicker,  evidently 
feels  the  weather  a  burden.  The  creeper  and 
these  three  woodpeckers  are  with  us  in  limited 
numbers  every  winter ;  and  in  the  season  of 
1881-82  we  had  an  altogether  unexpected  visit 
from  the  red-headed  woodpecker,  —  such  a 
thing  as  had  not  been  known  for  a  long  time, 
if  ever.  Where  the  birds  came  from,  and  what 
was  the  occasion  of  their  journey,  nobody  could 
tell.  They  arrived  early  in  the  autumn,  and 
went  away,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  strag- 
glers, in  the  spring  ;  and  as  far  as  I  know  have 
never  been  seen  since.  It  is  a  great  pity  they 
did  not  like  us  well  enough  to  come  again  ;  for 
they  are  wide-awake,  entertaining  creatures,  and 
gorgeously  attired.  I  used  to  watch  them  in 
the  oak  groves  of  some  Longwood  estates,  but 
it  was  not  till  our  second  or  third  interview 
that  I  discovered  them  to  be  the  authors  of  a 
mystery  over  which  I  had  been  exercising  my 
wits  in  vain,  a  tree-frog's  note  in  winter  !  One  of 


206  WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON. 

their  amusements  was  to  drum  on  the  tin  girdles 
of  the  shade  trees  ;  and  meanwhile  they  them- 
selves afforded  a  pastime  to  the  gray  squirrels, 
who  were  often  to  be  seen  creeping  stealthily 
after  them,  as  if  they  imagined  that  Melanerpes 
erythrocephalus  might  possibly  be  caught,  if 
only  he  were  hunted  long  enough.  I  laughed 
at  them  ;  but,  after  all,  their  amusing  halluci- 
nation was  nothing  but  the  sportsman's  instinct ; 
and  life  would  soon  lose  its  charm  for  most  of 
us,  sportsmen  or  not,  if  we  could  no  longer  pur- 
sue the  unattainable. 

Probably  my  experience  is  not  singular,  but 
there  are  certain  birds,  well  known  to  be  more 
or  less  abundant  in  this  neighborhood,  which 
for  some  reason  or  other  I  have  seldom,  if 
ever,  met.  For  example,  of  the  multitude  of 
pine  finches  which  now  and  then  overrun  East- 
ern Massachusetts  in  winter  I  have  never 
seen  one,  while  on  the  other  hand  I  was  once 
lucky  enough  to  come  upon  a  few  of  the  very 
much  smaller  number  which  pass  the  summer 
in  Northern  New  Hampshire.  This  was  in  the 
White  Mountain  Notch,  first  on  Mount  Willard 
and  then  near  the  Crawford  House,  at  which 
latter  place  they  were  feeding  on  the  lawn  and 
along  the  railway  track  as  familiarly  as  the 
gold-finches. 

The  shore  larks,  too,  are  no  doubt  common 


WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON.          207 

near  Boston  for  a  part  of  every  year;  yet  I 
found  half  a  dozen  five  or  six  years  ago  in  the 
marsh  beside  a  Back  Bay  street,  and  have  seen 
none  since.  One  of  these  stood  upon  a  pile  of 
earth,  singing  to  himself  in  an  undertone,  while 
the  rest  were  feeding  in  the  grass.  Whether 
the  singer  was  playing  sentinel,  and  sounded  an 
alarm,  I  was  not  sure,  but  all  at  once  the  flock 
started  off,  as  if  on  a  single  pair  of  wings. 

Birds  which  elude  the  observer  in  this  man- 
ner year  after  year  only  render  themselves  all 
the  more  interesting.  They  are  like  other  spe- 
cies with  which  we  deem  ourselves  well  ac- 
quainted, but  which  suddenly  appear  in  some 
quite  unlooked-for  time  or  place.  The  long- 
expected  and  the  unexpected  have  both  an  es- 
pecial charm.  I  have  elsewhere  avowed  my 
favoritism  for  the  white-throated  sparrow  ;  but 
I  was  never  more  delighted  to  see  him  than  on 
one  Christmas  afternoon.  I  was  walking  in  a 
back  road,  not  far  from  the  city,  when  I  de- 
scried a  sparrow  ahead  of  me,  feeding  in  the 
path,  and,  coming  nearer,  recognized  my  friend 
the  white-throat.  He  held  his  ground  till  the 
last  moment  (time  was  precious  to  him  that 
short  day),  and  then  flew  into  a  bush  to  let  me 
pass,  which  I  had  no  sooner  done  than  he  was 
back  again  ;  and  on  my  return  the  same  thing 
was  repeated.  Far  and  near  the  ground  was 


208  WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON. 

white,  but  just  at  this  place  the  snow-plough 
had  scraped  bare  a  few  square  feet  of  earth,  and 
by  great  good  fortune  this  solitary  and  hungry 
straggler  had  hit  upon  it.  I  wondered  what  he 
would  do  when  the  resources  of  this  garden 
patch  were  exhausted,  but  consoled  myself  with 
thinking  that  by  this  time  he  must  be  well  used 
to  living  by  his  wits,  and  would  probably  find 
a  way  to  do  so  even  in  his  present  untoward 
circumstances. 

The  snow-birds  (not  to  be  confounded  with 
the  snow  buntings)  should  have  at  least  a  men- 
tion in  such  a  paper  as  this.  They  are  among 
the  most  familiar  and  constant  of  our  winter 
guests,  although  very  much  less  numerous  at 
that  time  than  in  spring  and  autumn,  when  the 
fields  and  lanes  are  fairly  alive  with  them. 

A  kind  word  must  be  said  for  the  shrike, 
also,  who  during  the  three  coldest  months  is  to 
be  seen  on  the  Common  oftener  than  any  other 
of  our  native  birds.  There,  at  all  events,  he  is 
doing  a  good  work.  May  he  live  to  finish  it ! 

The  blue  jay  stands  by  us,  of  course.  You 
will  not  go  far  without  hearing  his  scream,  and 
catching  at  least  a  distant  view  of  his  splendid 
coat,  which  he  is  too  consistent  a  dandy  to  put 
off  for  one  of  a  duller  shade,  let  the  season  shift 
as  it  will.  He  is  not  always  good-natured  ;  but 
none  the  less  he  is  generally  in  good  spirits  (he 


WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON.          209 

seems  to  enjoy  his  bad  temper),  and,  all  in  all, 
is  not  to  be  lightly  esteemed  in  a  time  when 
bright  feathers  are  scarce. 

As  for  the  jay's  sable  relatives,  they  are  the 
most  conspicuous  birds  in  the  winter  landscape. 
You  may  possibly  walk  to  Brookline  and  back 
without  hearing  a  chickadee,  or  a  blue  jay,  or 
even  a  goldfinch ;  but  you  will  never  miss  sight 
and  sound  of  the  crows.  Black  against  white 
is  a  contrast  hard  to  be  concealed.  Sometimes 
they  are  feeding  in  the  street,  sometimes  stalk- 
ing about  the  marshes ;  but  oftenest  they  are 
on  the  ice  in  the  river,  near  the  water's  edge. 
For  they  know  the  use  of  friends,  although  they 
have  never  heard  of  Lord  Bacon's  "  last  fruit  of 
friendship,"  and  would  hardly  understand  what 
that  provident  philosopher  meant  by  saying 
that  "  the  best  way  to  represent  to  life  the  man- 
ifold use  of  friendship  is  to  cast  and  see  how 
many  things  there  are  which  a  man  cannot  do 
himself."  How  aptly  their  case  illustrates  the 
not  unusual  coexistence  of  formal  ignorance 
with  real  knowledge  !  Having  their  Southern 
brother's  fondness  for  fish  without  his  skill  in 
catching  it,  they  adopt  a  plan  worthy  of  the 
great  essayist  himself,  —  they  court  the  society 
of  the  gulls  ;  and  with  a  temper  eminently  phil- 
osophical, not  to  say  Baconian,  they  cheerfully 
sit  at  their  patrons'  second  table.  From  the 

14 


210     WINTER  BIRDS  ABOUT  BOSTON. 

Common  you  may  see  them  almost  any  day 
(in  some  seasons,  at  least)  flying  back  and 
forth  between  the  river  and  the  harbor.  One 
morning  in  early  March  I  witnessed  quite  a 
procession,  one  small  company  after  another, 
the  largest  numbering  eleven  birds,  though  it 
was  nothing  to  compare  with  what  seems  to  be 
a  daily  occurrence  at  some  places  further  south. 
At  another  time,  in  the  middle  of  January,  I 
saw  what  appeared  to  be  a  flock  of  herring  gulls 
sailing  over  the  city,  making  progress  in  their 
own  wonderfully  beautiful  manner,  circle  after 
circle.  But  I  noticed  that  about  a  dozen  of 
them  were  black !  What  were  these  ?  If  they 
could  have  held  their  peace  I  might  have  gone 
home  puzzled ;  but  the  crow  is  in  one  respect  a 
very  polite  bird  :  he  will  seldom  fly  over  your 
head  without  letting  fall  the  compliments  of 
the  morning,  and  a  vigorous  caw,  caw  soon  pro- 
claimed my  black  gulls  to  be  simply  erratic 
specimens  of  Corvus  Americanus.  Why  were 
they  conducting  thus  strangely  ?  Had  they  be- 
come so  attached  to  their  friends  as  to  have 
taken  to  imitating  them  unconsciously  ?  Or 
were  they  practicing  upon  the  vanity. of  these 
useful  allies  of  theirs,  these  master  fishermen  ? 
Who  can  answer  ?  The  ways  of  shrewd  people 
are  hard  to  understand ;  and  in  all  New  Eng- 
land there  is  no  shrewder  Yankee  than  the 
crow. 


A  BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL. 


There  shall  be 

Beautiful  things  made  new,  for  the  surprise 
Of  the  sky-children. 

KEATS. 

Everywhere  the  blue  sky  belongs  to  them,  and  is  their  ap- 
pointed rest,  and  their  native  country  and  their  own  natural  homes, 
which  they  enter  unannounced,  as  lords  that  are  certainly  ex- 
pected, and  yet  there  is  a  silent  joy  at  their  arrival. 

COLERIDGE. 


A  BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL. 


IT  began  on  the  29th  of  March  ;  in  the  after- 
noon of  which  day,  despite  the  authority  of  the 
almanac  and  the  banter  of  my  acquaintances 
(March  was  March  to  them,  and  it  was  nothing 
more),  I  shook  off  the  city's  dust  from  my  feet, 
and  went  into  summer  quarters.  The  roads 
were  comparatively  dry ;  the  snow  was  entirely 
gone,  except  a  patch  or  two  in  the  shadow  of 
thick  pines  under  the  northerly  side  of  a  hill ; 
and  all  tokens  seemed  to  promise  an  early 
spring.  So  much  I  learned  before  the  hasten- 
ing twilight  cut  short  my  first  brief  turn  out-of- 
doors.  In  the  morning  would  be  time  enough 
to  discover  what  birds  had  already  reported 
themselves  at  my  station. 

Unknown  to  me,  however,  our  national 
weather  bureau  had  announced  a  snow-storm, 
and  in  the  morning  I  drew  aside  the  curtains 
to  look  out  upon  a  world  all  in  white,  with  a 
cold,  high  wind  blowing  and  snow  falling  fast. 
"  The  worst  Sunday  of  the  winter,"  the  natives 


214  A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL. 

said.  The  "  summer  boarder  "  went  to  church, 
of  course.  To  have  done  otherwise  might  have 
been  taken  for  a  confession  of  weakness ;  as  if 
inclemency  of  this  sort  were  more  than  he  had 
bargained  for.  The  villagers,  lacking  any  such 
spur  to  right  conduct,  for  the  most  part  stayed 
at  home  ;  feeling  it  not  unpleasant,  I  dare  say, 
some  of  them,  to  have  a  natural  inclination 
providentially  confirmed,  even  at  the  cost  of  an 
hour's  exercise  with  the  shovel.  The  bravest 
parishioner  of  all,  and  the  sweetest  singer,  — 
the  song  sparrow  by  name,  —  was  not  in  the 
meeting-house,  but  by  the  roadside.  What  if 
the  wind  did  blow,  and  the  mercury  stand  at 
fifteen  or  twenty  degrees  below  the  freezing 
point  ?  In  cold  as  in  heat  "  the  mind  is  its  own 
place." 

Three  days  after  this  came  a  second  storm, 
one  of  the  heaviest  snow-falls  of  the  year.  The 
robins  were  reduced  to  picking  up  seeds  in  the 
asparagus  bed.  The  bluebirds  appeared  to  be 
trying  to  glean  something  from  the  bark  of 
trees,  clinging  rather  awkwardly  to  the  trunk 
meanwhile.  (They  are  given  to  this,  more  or 
less,  at  all  times,  and  it  possibly  has  some  con- 
nection with  their  half-woodpeckerish  habit  of 
nestling  in  holes.)  Some  of  the  snow-birds 
were  doing  likewise ;  I  noticed  one  traveling  up 
a  trunk,  —  which  inclined  a  good  deal,  to  be 


A  BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL.  215 

sure,  —  exploring  the  crannies  right  and  left, 
like  any  creeper.  Half  a  dozen  or  more  phoebes 
were  in  the  edge  of  a  wood ;  and  they  too 
seemed  to  have  found  out  that,  if  worst  came 
to  worst,  the  tree-boles  would  yield  a  pittance 
for  their  relief.  They  often  hovered  against 
them,  pecking  hastily  at  the  bark,  and  one  at 
least  was  struggling  for  a  foothold  on  the  per- 
pendicular surface.  Most  of  the  time,  however, 
they  went  skimming  over  the  snow  and  the 
brook,  in  the  regular  flycatcher  style.  The 
chickadees  were  put  to  little  or  no  inconven- 
ience, since  what  was  a  desperate  makeshift  to 
the  others  was  to  them  only  an  e very-day  affair. 
It  would  take  a  long  storm  to  bury  their  gran- 
ary.1 After  the  titmice,  the  fox-colored  spar- 
rows had  perhaps  the  best  of  it.  Looking  out 
places  where  the  snow  had  collected  least,  at 
the  foot  of  a  tree  or  on  the  edge  of  water,  these 
adepts  at  scratching  speedily  turned  up  earth 
enough  to  checker  the  white  with  very  consid- 
erable patches  of  brown.  While  walking  I 
continually  disturbed  song  sparrows,  fox  spar- 
rows, tree  sparrows,  and  snow-birds  feeding  in 
the  road  ;  and  when  I  sat  in  my  room  I  was 
advised  of  the  approach  of  carriages  by  seeing 

1  In  the  titmouse's  cosmological  system  trees  occupy  a  highly 
important  place,  we  may  be  sure;  while  the  purpose  of  their  tall, 
upright  method  of  growth  no  doubt  receives  a  very  simple  and 
logical  (and  correspondingly  lucid)  explanation. 


216  A   BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL. 

these  "  pensioners  upon  the  traveler's  track " 
scurry  past  the  window  in  advance  of  them. 

It  is  pleasant  to  observe  how  naturally  birds 
flock  together  in  hard  times,  —  precisely  as  men 
do,  and  doubtless  for  similar  reasons.  The  edge 
of  the  wood,  just  mentioned,  was  populous  with 
them  :  robins,  bluebirds,  chickadees,  fox  spar- 
rows, snow-birds,  song  sparrows,  tree  sparrows, 
phoebes,  a  golden-winged  woodpecker,  and  a 
rusty  blackbird.  The  last,  noticeable  for  his 
conspicuous  light-colored  eye-ring,  had  some- 
how become  separated  from  his  fellows,  and  re- 
mained for  several  days  about  this  spot  entirely 
alone.  I  liked  to  watch  his  aquatic  perform- 
ances ;  they  might  almost  have  been  those  of 
the  American  dipper  himself,  I  thought.  He 
made  nothing  of  putting  his  head  and  neck 
clean  under  water,  like  a  duck,  and  sometimes 
waded  the  brook  when  the  current  was  so 
strong  that  he  was  compelled  every  now  and 
then  to  stop  and  brace  himself  against  it,  lest 
he  should  be  carried  off  his  feet. 

It  is  clear  that  birds,  sharing  the  frailty  of 
some  who  are  better  than  many  sparrows,  are 
often  wanting  in  patience.  As  spring  draws 
near  they  cannot  wait  for  its  coming.  What 
it  has  been  the  fashion  to  call  their  unerring 
instinct  is  after  all  infallible  only  as  a  certain 
great  public  functionary  is,  —  in  theory;  and 


A  BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL.  217 

their  mistaken  haste  is  too  frequently  nothing 
but  a  hurrying  to  their  death.  But  I  saw  no 
evidence  that  this  particular  storm  was  attended 
with  any  fatal  consequences.  The  snow  com- 
pletely disappeared  within  a  day  or  two ;  and 
even  while  it  lasted  the  song  sparrows,  fox  spar-, 
rows,  and  linnets  could  be  heard  singing  with 
all  cheerfulness.  On  the  coldest  day,  when 
the  mercury  settled  to  within  twelve  degrees  of 
zero,  I  observed  that  the  song  sparrows,  as  they 
fed  in  the  road,  had  a  trick  of  crouching  till 
their  feathers  all  but  touched  the  ground,  so 
protecting  their  legs  against  the  biting  wind. 

The  first  indications  of  mating  were  noticed 
on  the  5th,  the  parties  being  two  pairs  of  blue- 
birds. One  of  the  females  was  rebuffing  her 
suitor  rather  petulantly,  but  when  he  flew  away 
she  lost  no  time  in  following.  Shall  I  be  ac- 
cused of  slander  if  I  suggest  that  possibly  her 
No  meant  nothing  worse  than  Ask  me  again  ? 
I  trust  not ;  she  was  only  a  bluebird,  remem- 
ber. Three  days  later  I  came  .upon  two  couples 
engaged  in  house-hunting.  In  this  business  the 
female  takes  the  lead,  with  a  silent,  abstracted 
air,  as  if  the  matter  were  one  of  absorbing  in- 
terest ;  while  her  mate  follows  her  about  some- 
what impatiently,  and  with  a  good  deal  of  talk, 
which  is  plainly  intended  to  hasten  the  decision. 
"  Come,  come,"  he  says  ;  "  the  season  is  short, 


218  A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL. 

w» 

and  we  can't  waste  the  whole  of  it  in  getting 
ready."  I  never  could  discover  that  his  elo- 
quence produced  much  effect,  however.  Her 
ladyship  will  have  her  own  way ;  as  indeed  she 
ought  to  have,  good  soul,  considering  that  she 
is  to  have  the  discomfort  and  the  hazard.  In 
one  case  I  was  puzzled  by  the  fact  that  there 
seemed  to  be  two  females  to  one  of  the  opposite 
sex.  It  really  looked  as  if  the  fellow  proposed 
to  set  up  housekeeping  with  whichever  should 
first  find  a  house  to  her  mind.  But  this  is 
slander,  and  I  hasten  to  take  it  back.  No 
doubt  I  misinterpreted  his  behavior ;  for  it  is 
true  —  with  sorrow  I  confess  it  —  that  I  am  as 
yet  but  imperfectly  at  home  in  the  Sialian  dia- 
lect. 

For  the  first  fortnight  my  note-book  is  full  of 
the  fox-colored  sparrows.  It  was  worth  while 
to  have  come  into  the  country  ahead  of  time, 
as  city  people  reckon,  to  get  my  fill  of  this 
Northern  songster's  music.  Morning  and  night, 
wherever  I  walked,  and  even  if  I  remained  in- 
doors, I  was  certain  to  hear  the  loud  and  beau- 
tiful strain  ;  to  which  I  listened  with  the  more 
attention  because  the  birds,  I  knew,  would  soon 
be  off  for  their  native  fields,  beyond  the  boun- 
daries of  the  United  States. 

It  is  astonishing  how  gloriously  birds  may 
sing,  and  yet  pass  unregarded.  We  read  of 


A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL.  219 

nightingales  and  skylarks  with  a  self-satisfied 
thrill  of  second-hand  enthusiasm,  and  mean- 
while our  native  songsters,  even  the  best  of 
them,  are  piping  unheeded  at  our  very  doors. 
There  may  have  been  half  a  dozen  of  the  town's 
people  who  noticed  the  presence  of  these  fox 
sparrows,  but  I  think  it  doubtful ;  and  yet  the 
birds,  the  largest,  handsomest,  and  most  musi- 
cal of  all  our  many  sparrows,  were,  as  I  say, 
abundant  everywhere,  and  in  full  voice. 

One  afternoon  I  stood  still  while  a  fox  spar- 
row and  a  song  sparrow  sang  alternately  on 
either  side  of  me,  both  exceptionally  good  vo- 
calists, and  each  dokig  his  best.  The  songs 
were  of  about  equal  length,  and  as  far  as  theme 
was  concerned  were  not  a  little  alike ;  but  the 
fox  sparrow's  tone  was  both  louder  and  more 
mellow  than  the  other's,  while  his  notes  were 
longer,  —  more  sustained,  —  and  his 'voice  was 
"  carried  "  from  one  pitch  to  another.  On  the 
whole,  I  had  no  hesitation  about  giving  him 
the  palm  ;  but  I  am  bound  to  say  that  his  rival 
was  a  worthy  competitor.  In  some  respects,  in- 
deed, the  latter  was  the  more  interesting  singer 
of  the  two.  His  opening  measure  of  three  pips 
was  succeeded  by  a  trill  of  quite  peculiar  brill- 
iancy and  perfection  ;  and  when  the  other  bird 
had  ceased  he  suddenly  took  a  lower  perch,  and 
began  to  rehearse  an  altogether  different  tune 


220  A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL. 

in  a  voice  not  more  than  half  as  loud  as  what 
he  had  been  using ;  after  which,  as  if  to  cap 
the  climax,  he  several  times  followed  the  tune 
with  a  detached  phrase  or  two  in  a  still  fainter 
voice.  This  last  was  pretty  certainly  an  im- 
provised cadenza,  such  a  thing  as  I  do  not  re- 
member ever  to  have  heard  before  from  Melo- 
spiza  melodia. 

The  song  of  the  fox  sparrow  has  at  times  an 
almost  thrush-like  quality ;  and  the  bird  him- 
self, as  he  flies  up  in  front  of  you,  might  easily 
be  mistaken  for  some  member  of  that  noble 
family.  Once,  indeed,  when  I  saw  him  eating 
burning-bush  berries  in  a  Boston  garden,  I  was 
half  ready  to  believe  that  I  had  before  my  eyes 
a  living  example  of  the  development  of  one 
species  out  of  another,  —  a  finch  already  well 
on  his  way  to  become  a  thrush.  Most  often, 
however,  his  voice  puts  me  in  mind  of  the  car- 
dinal grosbeak's ;  his  voice,  and  perhaps  still 
more  his  cadence,  and  especially  his  practice  of 
the  portamento. 

The  llth  of  the  month  was  sunny,  and  the 
next  morning  I  came  back  from  my  accustomed 
rounds  under  a  sense  of  bereavement :-  the  fox 
sparrows  were  gone.  Where  yesterday  there 
had  been  hundreds  of  them,  now  I  could  find 
only  two  silent  stragglers.  They  had  been  well 
scattered  over  the  township,  —  here  a  flock  and 


A    BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL.  221 

there  a  flock  ;  but  in  some  way  —  I  should  be 
glad  to  have  anybody  tell  ine  how  —  the  word 
had  passed  from  company  to  company  that  after 
sundown  Friday  night  all  hands  would  set  out 
once  more  on  their  northward  journey.  There 
was  one  man,  at  least,  who  missed  them,  and 
in  the  comparative  silence  which  followed  their 
departure  appreciated  anew  how  much  they  had 
contributed  to  fill  the  wet  and  chilly  April  morn- 
ings with  melody  and  good  cheer. 

The  snow-birds  tarried  longer,  but  from  this 
date  became  less  and  less  abundant.  For  the 
first  third  of  the  month  they  had  been  as  nu- 
merous, I  calculated,  as  all  other  species  put 
together.  On  one  occasion  I  saw  a  large  com- 
pany of  them  chasing  an  albino,  the  latter  dash- 
ing wildly  round  a  pine-tree,  with  the  whole 
flock  in  furious  pursuit.  They  drove  him  off, 
across  an  impassable  morass,  before  I  could  get 
•close  enough  really  to  see  him,  but  I  presumed 
him  to  be  of  their  own  kind.  As  far  as  I  could 
make  out  he  was  entirely  white.  For  the  mo- 
ment it  lasted,  it  was  an  exciting  scene ;  and  I 
was  especially  gratified  to  notice  with  what  ex- 
treme heartiness  and  unanimity  the  birds  dis- 
countenanced their  wayward  brother's  hetero- 
doxy. I  agreed  with  them  that  one  who  cannot 
be  content  to  dress  like  other  people  ought  not 
to  be  allowed  to  live  with  them.  The  world  is 
large,  —  let  him  go  to  Rhode  Island  ! 


222  A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL. 

On  the  evening  of  the  6th,  just  at  dusk,  I 
had  started  up  the  road  for  a  lazy  after-dinner 
saunter,  when  I  was  brought  to  a  sudden  halt 
by  what  on  the  instant  1  took  for  the  cry  of  a 
*  night-hawk.     But  no  night-hawk  could  be  here 
thus  early  in  the  season,  and  listening  further, 
I  perceived  that  the  bird,  if  bird  it  was,  was  on 
the  ground,   or,  at  any  rate,  not  far   from  it. 
Then  it  flashed  upon  me  that  this  was  the  note 
of   the  woodcock,  which  I  had   that  very  day 
startled   upon  this  same  hillside.     Now,  then, 
for  another  sight  of  his  famous  aerial  courtship 
act !      So,  scrambling  down  the  embankment, 
and  clambering  over  the  stone-wall,  I  pushed  up 
the  hill  through  bushes  and   briers,  till,  having 
come  as  near  the  bird  as  I  dared,  I  crouched, 
and  awaited  further  developments.      I  had  not 
long  to  wait,  for  after  a  few  yaks,  at  intervals 
of  perhaps  fifteen  or  twenty  seconds,  the  fellow 
took  to  wing,  and  went  soaring  in  a  circle  above 
me  ;  calling  hurriedly  click,  click,  click,  with  a 
break  now  and  then,  as  if   for   breath-taking. 
All  this  he  repeated  several  times ;  but  unfor- 
tunately it  was  too  dark  for  me  to  see  him,  ex- 
cept as  he  crossed  a  narrow  illuminated  strip  of 
sky  just  above  the  horizon  line.     I  judged  that 
he  mounted  to  a  very  considerable  height,  and 
dropped  invariably  into  the   exact   spot   from 
which   he  had  started.     For  a  week  or  two  I 


A  BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL.  223 

listened  every  night  for  a  repetition  of  the  yak  ; 
but  I  heard  nothing  more  of  it  for  a  month. 
Then  it  came  to  my  ears  again,  this  time  from 
a  field  between  the  road  and  a  swamp.  Watch- 
ing my  opportunity,  while  the  bird  was  in  the 
air,  I  hastened  across  the  field,  and  stationed 
myself  against  a  small  cedar.  He  was  still 
clicking  high  overhead,  but  soon  alighted 
silently  within  twenty  yards  of  where  I  was 
standing,  and  commenced  to  "  bleat,"  prefacing 
each  yak  with  a  fainter  syllable  which  I  had 
never  before  been  near  enough  to  detect.  Pres- 
ently he  started  once  more  on  his  skyward 
journey.  Up  he  went,  in  a  large  spiral, 
"  higher  still  and  higher "  till  the  cedar  cut 
off  my  view  for  an  instant,  after  which  I  could 
not  again  get  my  eye  upon  him.  Whether  he 
saw  me  or  not  I  cannot  tell,  but  he  dropped  to 
the  ground  some  rods  away,  and  did  not  make 
another  ascension,  although  he  continued  to 
call  irregularly,  and  appeared  to  be  walking 
about  the  field.  Perhaps  by  this  time  the  fair 
one  for  whose  benefit  all  this  parade  was  in- 
tended had  come  out  of  the  swamp  to  meet  and 
reward  her  admirer. 

Hoping  for  a  repetition  of  the  same  pro- 
gramme on  the  following  night,  I  invited  a 
friend  from  the  city  to  witness  it  with  me  ;  one 
who,  less  fortunate  than  the  "  forest  seer,"  had 


224  A  BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL. 

never  "  heard  the  woodcock's  evening  hymn," 
notwithstanding  his  knowledge  of  birds  is  a 
thousand-fold  more  than  mine,  as  all  students 
of  American  ornithology  would  unhesitatingly 
avouch  were  I  to  mention  his  name.  We  waited 
till  dark ;  but  though  Philohela  was  there,  and 
sounded  his  yak  two  or  three  times,  —  just 
enough  to  excite  our  hopes,  —  yet  for  some 
reason  he  kept  to  terra  firma.  Perhaps  he  was 
aware  of  our  presence,  and  disdained  to  exhibit 
himself  in  the  rdle  of  a  wooer  under  our  pro- 
fane and  curious  gaze ;  or  possibly,  as  my  more 
scientific  (and  less  sentimental)  companion  sug- 
gested, the  light  breeze  may  have  been  counted 
unfavorable  for  such  high-flying  exploits. 

After  all,  our  matter-of-fact  world  is  surpris- 
ingly full  of  romance.  Who  would  have  ex- 
pected to.  find  this  heavy-bodied,  long-billed, 
gross-looking,  bull-headed  bird  singing  at  heav- 
en's gate  ?  He  a  "  scorn er  of  the  ground  "  ? 
Verily,  love  worketh  wonders !  And  perhaps 
it  is  really  true  that  the  outward  semblance  is 
sometimes  deceptive.  To  be  candid,  however, 
I  must  end  with  confessing  that,  after  listening 
to  the  woodcock's  "  hymn  "  a  good  many  times, 
first  and  last,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  it 
takes  an  imaginative  ear  to  discover  anything 
properly  to  be  called  a  song  in  its  monotonous 
click,  click)  even  at  its  fastest  and  loudest. 1 

1  While  this  book  is  passing  through  the  press  (April  30th, 


A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL.  225 

While  I  was  enjoying  the  farewell  matinee 
of  the  fox-colored  sparrows  on  the  llth,  sud- 
denly there  ran  into  the  chorus  the  fine  silver 
thread  of  the  winter  wren's  tune.  Here  was 
pleasure  unexpected.  It  is  down  in  all  the 
books,  I  believe,  that  this  bird  does  not  sing 
while  on  his  travels ;  and  certainly  I  had  my- 
self never  known  him  to  do  anything  of  the 
sort  before.  But  there  is  always  something 
new  under  the  sun. 

"  Who  ever  heaad  of  th'  Indian  Peru  ? 
Or  who  in  venturous  v.essell  measured 
The  Amazon's  huge  river,  now  found  trew  ? 
Or  fruitfullest  Virginia  who  did  ever  vew  ?" 

I  was  all  ear,  of  course,  standing  motionless 
while  the  delicious  music  came  again  and  again 

1885)  I  am  privileged  with  another  sight  and  sound  of  the  wood- 
cock's vespertine  performance,  and  under  peculiarly  favorable 
conditions.  In  the  account  given  above,  sufficient  distinction  is 
not  made  between  the  clicking  noise,  heard  while  the  bird  is  soar- 
ing, and  the  sounds  which  signalize  his  descent.  The  former  is 
probably  produced  by  the  wings,  although  I  have  heretofore 
thought  otherwise,  while  the  latter  are  certainly  vocal,  and  no 
doubt  intended  as  a  song.  But  they  are  little  if  at  all  louder  than 
the  click,  click  of  the  wings,  and  as  far  as  I  have  ever  been  able 
to  make  out  are  nothing  more  than  a  series  of  quick,  breathless 
whistles,  with  no  attempt  at  either  melody  or  rhythm. 

In  the  present  instance  I  could  see  only  the  start  and  the  "  fin- 
ish," when  the  bird  several  times  passed  directly  by  and  over  me, 
as  I  stood  in  a  cluster  of  low  birches,  within  two  or  three  rods  of 
his  point  of  departure.  His  angle  of  flight  was  small;  quite  as  if 
he  had  been  going  and  coming  from  one  field  to  another,  in  the 
ordinary  course.  Once  I  timed  him,  and  found  that  he  was  on  the 
wing  for  a  few  seconds  more  than  a  minute. 
15 


226  A  BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL. 

out  of  a  tangle  of  underbrush  behind  a  dilapi- 
dated stone-wall,  —  a  spot  for  all  the  world 
congenial  to  this  tiny  recluse,  whose  whole  life, 
we  may  say,  is  one  long  game  of  hide-and-seek. 
Altogether  the  song  was  repeated  twenty  times 
at  least,  and  to  my  thinking  I  had  never  heard 
it  given  with  greater  brilliancy  and  fervor. 
The  darling  little  minstrel !,  he  will  never  know 
how  grateful  I  felt.  I  even  forgave  him  when 
he  sang  thrice  from  a  living  bush,  albeit  in  so 
doing  he  spoiled  a  sentence  which  I  had  al- 
ready committed  to  "the  permanency  of  print." 
Birds  of  all  kinds  will  play  such  tricks  upon  us  ; 
but  whether  the  fault  be  chargeable  to  fickle- 
ness or  a  mischievous  spirit  on  their  part,  rather 
than  to  undue  haste  on  the  part  of  us  their  re- 
porters, is  a  matter  about  which  I  am  perhaps 
not  sufficiently  disinterested  to  judge.  In  this 
instance,  however,  it  was  reasonably  certain 
'  that  the  singer  did  not  show  himself  intention- 
ally ;  for  unless  the  whole  tenor  of  his  life  belies 
him,  the  winter  wren's  motto  is,  Little  birds 
should  be  heard,  and  not  seen. 

Two  days  afterward  I  was  favored  again  in 
like  manner.  But  not  by  the  same  bird,  I 
think  ;  unless  my  hearing  was  at.  fault  (the 
singer  was  further  off  than  before),  this  one's 
tune  was  in  places  somewhat  broken  and  hesi- 
tating, —  as  if  he  were  practicing  a  lesson  not 
yet  fully  learned. 


A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL.  227 

I  felt  under  a  double  obligation  to  these  two 
specimens  of  Anorthura  troglodytes  hiemalis : 
first  for  their  music  itself;  and  then  for  the  sup- 
port which  it  gave  to  a  pet  theory  of  mine,  that 
all  our  singing  birds  will  yet  be  found  to  sing 
more  or  less  regularly  in  the  course  of  the 
vernal  migration. 

Within  another  forty-eight  hours  this  same 
theory  received  additional  confirmation.  I  was 
standing  under  an  apple-tree,  watching  a  pair 
of  titmice  who  were  hollowing  out  a  stub  for  a 
nest,  when  my  ear  caught  a  novel  song  not  far 
away.  Of  course  I  made  towards  it ;  but  the 
bird  flew  off,  across  the  road  and  into  the  woods. 
My  hour  was  up,  and  I  reluctantly  started  home- 
ward, but  had  gone  only  a  few  rods  before  the 
song  was  repeated.  This  was  more  than  human 
nature  could  bear,  and,  turning  back  upon  the 
run,  I  got  into  the  woods  just  in  time  to  see 
two  birds  chasing  each  other  round  a  tree,  both 
uttering  the  very  notes  which  had  so  roused  my 
curiosity.  Then  away  they  went ;  but  as  I  was 
,  again  bewailing  my  evil  luck,  one  of  them  re- 
turned, and  flew  into  the  oak,  directly  over  my 
head,  and  as  he  did  so  fell  to  calling  anew,  Sue, 
suky,  suky.  A  single  glance  upward  revealed 
that  this  was  another  of  the  silent  migrants,  — 
a  brown  creeper !  Only  once  before  had  I 
heard  from  him  anything  beside  his  customary 


228  A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL. 

lisping  zee,  zee  ;  and  even  on  that  occasion  (in 
June  and  in  New  Hampshire)  the  song  bore  no 
resemblance  to  his  present  effort.  I  have  writ- 
ten it  down  as  it  sounded  at  the  moment,  Sue, 
suky,  sulcy,  five  notes,  the  first  longer  than  the 
others,  and  all  of  them  brusque,  loud,  and  mu- 
sical, though  with  something  of  a  warbler 
quality.1 

It  surprised  me  to  find  how  the  migratory 
movement  lagged  for  the  first  half  of  the  month. 
A  pair  of  white-breasted  swallows  flew  over  my 
head  while  I  was  attending  to  the  winter  wren 
on  the  llth,  and  on  the  14th  appeared  the  first 
pine  -  creeping  warblers,  —  welcome  for  their 
own  sakes,  and  doubly  so  as  the  forerunners  of 
a  numerous  and  splendid  company  ;  but  aside 
from  these  two,  I  saw  no  evidence  that  a  single 

1  Still  further  to  corroborate  my  "pet  theory,"  I  may  say  here 
in  a  foot-note,  what  I  have  said  elsewhere  with  more  detail,  that 
before  the  end  of  the  following  month  the  hermit  thrushes,  the 
olive-backed  thrushes,  and  the  gray-cheeked  thrushes  all  sang  for 
me  in  my  Melrose  woods. 

Let  me  explain,  also,  that  when  I  call  the  brown  creeper  a  silent 
migrant  I  am  not  unaware  that  others  beside  myself,  and  more 
than  myself,  have  heard  him  sing  while  traveling.  Mr.  William 
Brewster,  as  quoted  by  Dr.  Brewer  in  the  History  of  North  Amer- 
ican Birds,  has  been  exceptionally  fortunate  in  this  regard.  But 
my  expression  is  correct  as  far  as  the  rule  is  concerned;  and  the 
latest  word  upon  the  subject  which  has  come  under  my  eye  is  this 
from  Mr.  E.  P.  Bicknell's  "  Study  of  the  Singing  of  our  Birds,"  in 
The  Auk  for  April,  1884:  "  Some  feeble  notes,  suggestive  of  those 
of  Regulus  satrapa,  are  this  bird's  usual  utterance  during  its  visit. 
Its  song  I  have  never  heard." 


A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL.  229 

new  species  arrived  at  my  station  for  the  entire 
fortnight. 

Robins  sang  sparingly  from  the  beginning, 
and  became  perceptibly  more  musical  on  the 
8th,  with  signs  of  mating  and  jealousy ;  but 
the  real  robin  carnival  did  not  open  till  the 
morning  of  the  14th.  Then  the  change  was 
wonderful.  Some  of  the  birds  were  flying  this 
way  and  that,  high  in  air,  two  or  three  to- 
gether ;  others  chased  each  other  about  nearer 
the  ground ;  some  were  screaming,  some  hiss- 
ing, and  more  singing.  So  sudden  was  the  out- 
break and  so  great  the  commotion  that  I  was 
persuaded  there  must  have  been  an  arrival  of 
females  in  the  night. 

I  have  heard  it  objected  against  these 
thrushes,  whose  extreme  commonness  renders 
them  less  highly  esteemed  than  they  would 
otherwise  be,  that  they  find  their  voices  too 
early  in  the  morning.  But  I  am  not  myself 
prepared  to  second  the  criticism.  They  are 
not  often  at  their  matins,  I  think,  until  the 
eastern  sky  begins  to  flush,  and  it  is  not  quite 
certain  to  my  mind  that  they  are  wrong  in  as- 
suming that  daylight  makes  daytime.  I  have 
questioned  before  now  whether  our  own  custom 
of  sitting  up  for  five  or  six  hours  after  sunset, 
and  then  lying  abed  two  or  three  hours  after 
sunrise,  may  not  have  come  down  to  us  from 


230  A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL. 

times  when  there  were  still  people  in  the  world 
who  loved  darkness  rather  than  light,  because 
their  deeds  were  evil ;  and  whether,  after  all, 
in  this  as  in  some  other  respects,  we  might  not 
wisely  take  pattern  of  the  fowls  of  the  air. 

Individually,  the  phcebes  were  almost  as 
noisy  as  the  robins,  but  of  course  their  numbers 
were  far  less.  They  are  models  of  persever- 
ance. Were  their  voice  equal  to  the  nightin- 
gale's they  could  hardly  be  more  assiduous  and 
enthusiastic  in  its  use.  As  a  general  thing  they 
are  content  to  repeat  the  simple  Phoebe,  Phoebe 
(there  are  moods  in  the  experience  of  all  of  us, 
I  hope,  when  the  repetition  of  a  name  is  by  it- 
self music  sufficient),  but  it  is  not  uncommon 
for  this  to  be  heightened  to  Phoebe,  0  Phoebe  ; 
and  now  and  then  you  will  hear  some  fellow 
calling  excitedly,  Phoebe,  Phoebe-be-be-be-be,  — 
a  comical  sort  of  stuttering,  in  which  the  diffi- 
culty is  not  in  getting  hold  of  the  first  syllable, 
but  in  letting  go  the  last  one.  On  the  15th  I 
witnessed  a  certain  other  performance  of  theirs, 
—  one  that  I  had  seen  two  or  three  times  the 
season  previous,  and  for  which  I  had  been  on 
the  lookout  from  the  first  day  of  the  month.  I 
heard  a  series  of  chips,  which  might  have  been 
the  cries  of  a  chicken,  but  which,  it  appeared, 
did  proceed  from  a  phcebe,  who,  as  I  looked  up, 
was  just  in  the  act  of  quitting  his  perch  on  the 


A  BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL.  231 

ridge-pole  of  a  barn.  He  rose  for  perhaps  thirty 
feet,  not  spirally,  but  in  a  zigzag  course,  —  like 
a  horse  climbing  a  hill  with  a  heavy  load,  — 
all  the  time  calling,  chip,  chip,  chip.  Then  he 
went  round  and  round  in  a  small  circle,  with  a 
kind  of  hovering  action  of  the  wings,  vocifer- 
ating hurriedly,  Phoebe,  Phoebe,  Phoebe  ;  after 
which  he  shot  down  into  the  top  of  a  tree,  and 
with  a  lively  flirt  of  his  tail  took  up  again  the 
same  eloquent  theme.  During  the  next  few 
weeks  I  several  times  found  birds  of  this  spe- 
cies similarly  engaged.  And  it  is  worthy  of  re- 
mark that,  of  the  four  flycatchers  which  regu- 
larly pass  the  summer  with  us,  three  may  be 
said  to  be  in  the  habit  of  singing  in  the  air, 
while  the  fourth  (the  wood  pewee)  does  the 
same  thing,  only  with  less  frequency.  It  is  cu- 
rious, also,  on  the  other  hand,  that  not  one  of 
our  eight  common  New  England  thrushes,  as 
far  as  I  have  ever  seen  or  heard,  shows  the  least 
tendency  toward  any  such  state  of  lyrical  exal- 
tation. Yet  the  thrushes  are  song  birds  par  ex- 
cellence, while  the  phoebe,  the  least  flycatcher, 
and  the  kingbird  are  not  supposed  to  be  able 
to  sing  at  all.  The  latter  have  the  soul  of  mu- 
sic in  them,  at  any  rate ;  and  why  should  it  not 
be  true  of  birds,  as  it  is  of  human  poets  and 
would-be  poets,  that  sensibility  and  faculty  are 
not  always  found  together?  Perhaps  those 


232  A  BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL. 

who   have   nothing   but   the   sensibility   have, 
after  all,  the  better  half  of  the  blessing. 

The  golden  -  winged  woodpeckers  shouted 
comparatively  little  before  the  middle  of  the 
month,  and  I  heard  nothing  of  their  tender 
wick-a-wick  until  the  22d.  After  that  they  were 
noisy  enough.  With  all  their  power  of  lungs, 
however,  they  not  only  are  not  singers  ;  they 
do  not  aspire  to  be.  They  belong  to  the  tribe 
of  Jubal.  Hearing  somebody  drumming  on 
tin,  I  peeped  over  the  wall,  and  saw  one  of 
these  pigeon  woodpeckers  hammering  an  old 
tin  pan  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  pasture. 
Rather  small  sport,  I  thought,  for  so  large  a 
bird.  But  that  was  a  matter  of  opinion,  merely, 
and  evidently  the  performer  himself  had  no 
such  scruples.  He  may  even  have  considered 
that  his  ability  to  play  on  this  instrument  of  the 
tinsmith's  went  far  to  put  him  on  an  equality 
with  some  who  boast  themselves  the  only  tool- 
using  animals.  True,  the  pan  was  battered  and 
rusty ;  but  it  was  resonant,  for  all  that,  and 
day  after  day  he  pleased  himself  with  beating 
reveille  upon  it.  One  morning  I  found  him 
sitting  in  a  tree,  screaming  lustily  in  response 
to  another  bird  in  an  adjacent  fiejd.  After  a 
while,  waxing  ardent,  he  dropped  to  the  ground, 
and,  stationing  himself  before  his  drum,  pro- 
ceeded to  answer  each  cry  of  his  rival  with  a 


A  BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL.  233 

vigorous  rubadub,  varying  the  programme  with 
an  occasional  halloo.  How  long  this  would  have 
lasted  there  is  no  telling,  but  he  caught  sight  of 
me,  skulking  behind  a  tree-trunk,  and  flew  back 
to  his  lofty  perch,  where  he  was  still  shouting 
when  I  came  away.  It  was  observable  that, 
even  in  his  greatest  excitement,  he  paused  once 
in  a  while  to  dress  his  feathers.  At  first  I  was 
inclined  to  take  this  as  betraying  a  want  of 
earnestness ;  but  further  reflection  led  me  to  a 
different  conclusion.  For  I  imagine  that  the 
human  lover,  no  matter  how  consuming  his  pas- 
sion, is  seldom  carried  so  far  beyond  himself  as 
not  to  be  able  to  spare  now  and  then  a  thought 
to  the  parting  of  his  hair  and  the  tie  of  his  cra- 
vat. 

Seeing  the  great  delight  which  this  wood- 
pecker took  in  his  precious  tin  pan,  it  seemed 
to  me  not  at  all  improbable  that  he  had  selected 
his  summer  residence  with  a  view  to  being  near 
it,  just  as  I  had  chosen  mine  for  its  convenience 
of  access  to  the  woods  on  the  one  hand,  and  to 
the  city  on  the  other.  I  shall  watch  with  in- 
terest to  see  whether  he  returns  to  the  same 
pasture  another  year. 

A  few  field  sparrows  and  chippers  showed 
themselves  punctually  on  the  15th;  but  they 
were  only  scouts,  and  the  great  body  of  their 
followers  were  more  than  a  week  behind  them. 


234  A  BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL. 

I  saw  no  bay-winged  buntings  until  the  22d, 
although  it  is  likely  enough  they  had  been  here 
for  some  days  before  that.  By  a  lucky  chance^ 
my  very  first  bird  was  a  peculiarly  accomplished 
musician  :  he  altered  his  tune  at  nearly  every 
repetition  of  it,  sang  ifc  sometimes  loudly  and 
then  softly,  and  once  in  a  while  added  cadenza- 
like  phrases.  It  lost  nothing  by  being  heard  on 
a  bright,  frosty  morning,  when  the  edges  of  the 
pools  were  filmed  with  ice. 

Only  three  species  of  warblers  appeared  dur- 
ing the  month :  the  pine-creeping  warblers,  al- 
ready spoken  of,  who  were  trilling  on  the  14th  ; 
the  yellow-rumped,  who  came  on  the  23d  ;  and 
the  yellow  red-polls,  who  followed  the  next  morn- 
ing. The  black-throated  greens  were  mysteri- 
ously tardy,  and  the  black-and-white  creepers 
waited  for  May-day. 

A  single  brown  thrush  was  leading  the  chorus 
on  the  29th.  "  A  great  singer,"  my  note-book 
says  :  "  not  so  altogether  faultless  as  some,  but 
with  a  large  voice  and  style,  adapted  to  a  great 
part ;  "  and  then  is  added,  "  I  thought  this  morn- 
ing of  Titiens,  as  I  listened  to  him  !  "  — a  bit  of 
impromptu  musical  criticism,  which,  under  cover 
of  the  saving  quotation  marks  may  stand  for 
what  it  is  worth.  • 

Not  long  after  leaving  him  I  ran  upon  two 
hermit  thrushes  (one  had  been  seen  on  the 


A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL.  235 

25th),  flitting  about  the  woods  like  ghosts.  I 
whistled  softly  to  the  first,  and  he  condescended 
to  answer  with  a  low  chuck,  after  which  I  could 
get  nothing  more  out  of  him.  This  demure 
taciturnity  is  very  curiou%  and  characteristic, 
and  to  me  very  engaging.  The  fellow  will 
neither  skulk  nor  run,  but  hops  upon  some  low 
branch,  and  looks  at  you,  —  behaving  not  a  lit- 
tle as  if  you  were  the  specimen  and  he  the  stu- 
dent !  And  in  such  a  case,  as  far  as  I  can  see, 
the  bird  equally  with  the  man  has  a  right  to  his 
own  point  of  view. 

The  hermits  were  not  yet  in  tune ;  and  with- 
out forgetting  the  fox-colored  sparrows  and  the 
linnets,  the  song  sparrows  and  the  bay-wings, 
the  winter  wrens  and  the  brown  thrush,  I  am 
almost  ready  to  declare  that  the  best  music  of 
the  month  came  from  the  smallest  of  all  the 
month's  birds,  the  ruby-crowned  kinglets.  Their 
spring  season  is  always  short  with  us,  and  un- 
happily it  was  this  year  shorter  even  than  usual, 
my  dates  being  April  23d  and  May  5th.  But 
we  must  be  thankful  for  a  little,  when  the  little 
is  of  such  a  quality.  Once  I  descried  two  of  them 
in  the  topmost  branches  of  a  clump  of  tall  ma- 
ples. For  a  long  time  they  fed  in  silence ;  then 
they  began  to  chase  each  other  about  through 
the  trees,  in  graceful  evolutions  (I  can  imagine 
nothing  more  graceful),  and  soon  one,  and  then 


236  A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL. 

the  other,  broke  out  into  song.  u  '  Infinite  riches 
in  a  little  room,'  "  my  note-book  says,  again ;  and 
truly  the  song  is  marvelous,  —  a  prolonged  and 
varied  warble,  introduced  and  often  broken  into, 
with  delightful  effect,  by  a  wrennish  chatter. 
For  fluency,  smoothness,  and  ease,  and  especially 
for  purity  and  sweetness  of  tone,  I  have  never 
heard  any  bird-song  that  seemed  to  me  more 
nearly  perfect.  If  the  dainty  creature  would 
bear  confinement,  —  on  which  point  I  know 
nothing,  —  he  would  make  an  ideal  parlor  song- 
ster ;  for  his  voice,  while  round  and  full,  —  in 
contrast  with  the  goldfinch's,  for  example,  —  is 
yet,  even  at  its  loudest,  of  a  wonderful  softness 
and  delicacy.  Nevertheless,  I  trust  that  nobody 
will  ever  cage  him.  Better  far  go  out-of-doors, 
and  drink  in  the  exquisite  sounds  as  they  drop 
from  the  thick  of  some  tall  pine,  while  you  catch 
now  and  then  a  glimpse  of  the  tiny  author,  flit- 
ting busily  from  branch  to  branch,  warbling  at 
his  work ;  or,  as  you  may  oftener  do,  look  and 
listen  to  your  heart's  content,  while  he  explores 
some  low  cedar  or  a  cluster  of  roadside  birches, 
too  innocent  and  happy  to  heed  your  presence. 
So  you  will  carry  home  not  the  song  only,  but 
"  the  river  and  sky." 

But  if  the  kinglets  were  individually  the  best 
singers,  I  must  still  confess  that  the  goldfinches 
gave  the  best  concert.  It  was  on  a  sunny  after- 


A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL.  237 

noon,  —  the  27th,  —  and  in  a  small  grove  of  tall 
pitch-pines.  How  many  birds  there  were  I 
could  form  little  estimate,  but  when  fifteen  flew 
away  for  a  minute  or  two  the  chorus  was  not 
perceptibly  diminished.  All  were  singing,  twit- 
tering, and  calling  together ;  some  of  them  di- 
rectly over  my  head,  the  rest  scattered  through- 
out the  wood.  No  one  voice  predominated  in 
the  least ;  all  sang  softly,  and  with  an  inde- 
scribable tenderness  and  beauty.  Any  who  do 
not  know  how  sweet  the  goldfinch's  note  is  may 
get  some  conception  of  the  effect  of  such  a  con- 
cert if  they  will  imagine  fifty  canaries  thus  en- 
gaged out-of-doors.  I  declared  then  that  I  had 
never  heard  anything  so  enchanting,  and  I  am 
not  certain  even  now  that  I  was  over-enthusi- 
astic. 

A  pine-creeping  warbler,  I  remember,  broke 
in  upon  the  choir  two  or  three  times  with  his 
loud,  precise  trill.  Foolish  bird  !  His  is  a  pretty 
song  by  itself,  but  set  in  contrast  with  music  so 
full  of  imagination  and  poetry,  it  sounded  pain- 
fully abrupt  and  prosaic. 

I  discovered  the  first  signs  of  nest-building  on 
the  13th,  while  investigating  the  question  of  a 
bird's  ambi-dexterity.  It  happened  that  I  had 
just  been  watching  a  chickadee,  as  he  picked 
chip  after  chip  from  a  dead  branch,  and  held 
them  fast  with  one  claw,  while  he  broke  them  in 


238  A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL. 

pieces  with  his  beak; "and  walking  away,  it  oc- 
curred to  me  to  ask  whether  or  not  he  could 
probably  use  both  feet  equally  well  for  such  a 
purpose.  Accordingly,  seeing  another  go  into 
an  apple-tree,  I  drew  near  to  take  his  testimony 
on  that  point.  But  when  I  came  to  look  for 
him  he  was  nowhere  in  sight,  and  pretty  soon  it 
appeared  that  he  was  at  work  in  the  end  of  an 
upright  stub,  which  he  had  evidently  but  just 
begun  to  hollow  out,  as  the  tip  of  his  tail  still 
protruded  over  the  edge.  A  bird-lover's  curi- 
osity can  always  adapt  itself  to  circumstances, 
and  in  this  case  it  was  no  hardship  to  post- 
pone the  settlement  of  my  newly  raised  inquiry, 
while  I  observed  the  pretty  labors  of  my  little 
architect.  These  proved  to  be  by  no  means 
inconsiderable,  lasting  nearly  or  quite  three 
weeks.  The  birds  were  still  bringing  away 
chips  on  the  30th,  when  their  cavity  was  about 
eleven  inches  deep  ;  but  it  is  to  be  said  that,  as 
far  as  I  could  find  out,  they  never  worked  in  the 
afternoon  or  on  rainy  days. 

Their  demeanor  toward  each  other  all  this 
time  was  beautiful  to  see ;  no  effusive  display  of 
affection,  but  every  appearance  of  a  perfect  mu- 
tual understanding  and  contentment.  And  their 
treatment  of  me  was  no  less  appropriate  and 
delightful,  —  a  happy  combination  of  freedom 
and  dignified  reserve.  I  took  it  for  an  ex- 


A  BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL.  239 

tremely  neat  compliment  to  myself,  as  well  as 
incontestable  evidence  of  unusual  powers  of  dis- 
crimination on  their  part. 

On  my  second  visit  the  female  sounded  a  call 
as  I  approached  the  tree,  and  I  looked  to  see 
her  mate  take  some  notice  of  it ;  but  he  kept 
straight  on  with  what  he  was  doing.  Not  long 
after  she  spoke  again,  however  ;  and  now  it  was 
amusing  to  see  the  fellow  all  at  once  stand  still 
on  the  top  of  the  stub,  looking  up  and  around, 
as  much  as  to  -say,  "  What  is  it,  my  dear?  I 
see  nothing."  Apparently  it  was  nothing,  and 
he  went  head  first  into  the  hole  again.  Pretty 
soon,  while  he  was  inside,  I  stepped  up  against 
the  trunk.  His  mate  continued  silent,  and  after 
what  seemed  a  long  time  he  came  out,  flew  to 
an  adjacent  twig,  dropped  his  load,  and  returned. 
This  he  did  over  and  over  (the  end  of  the  stub 
was  perhaps  ten  feet  above  my  head),  and  once 
he  let  fall  a  beakful  of  chips  plump  in  my  face. 
They  were  light,  and  I  did  not  resent  the  liberty. 

Two  mornings  later  I  found  him  at  his  task 
again,  toiling  in  good  earnest.  In  and  out  he 
went,  taking  care  to  bring  away  the  shavings 
at  every  trip,  as  before,  and  generally  sounding 
a  note  or  two  (keeping  the  tally,  perhaps)  be- 
fore he  dropped  them.  For  the  fifteen  minutes 
or  so  that  I  remained,  his  mate  was-  perched  in 
another  branch  of  the  same  tree,  not  once  shift- 


240  A  BIRD-LOVERS  APRIL. 

ing  her  position,  and  doing  nothing  whatever 
except  to  preen  her  feathers  a  little.  She  paid 
no  attention  to  her  husband,  nor  did  he  to  her. 
It  was  a  revelation  to  me  that  a  chickadee  could 
possibly  sit  still  so  long. 

Eight  days  after  this  they  were  both  at  work, 
spelling  each 'other,  and  then  going  off  in  com- 
pany for  a  brief  turn  at  feeding. 

So  far  they  had  never  manifested  the  least  an- 
noyance at  my  espionage  ;  but  the  next  morn- 
ing, as  I  stood  against  the  tree,  one  of  them 
seemed  slightly  disturbed,  and  flew  from  twig 
to  twig  about  my  head,  looking  at  me  from  all 
directions  with  his  shining  black  eyes.  The  re- 
connoissance  was  satisfactory,  however ;  every- 
thing went  on  as  before,  and  several  times  the 
chips  rattled  down  upon  my  stiff  Derby  hat. 
The  hole  was  getting  deep,  it  was  plain  ;  I 
could  hear  the  little  carpenter  hammering  at 
the  bottom,  and  then  scrambling  up  the  walls 
on  his  way  out.  One  of  the  pair  brought  a 
black  tidbit  from  a  pine  near  by,  and  offered  it 
to  the  other  as  he  emerged  into  daylight.  He 
took  it  from  her  bill,  said  chit,  — -  chickadese  for 
thank  you,  —  and  hastened  back  into  the  mine. 

Finally,  on  the  27th,  after  watching  their  op- 
erations a  while  from  the  ground,  I  swung  my- 
self into  the  tree,  and  took  a  seat  with  them. 
To  my  delight,  the  work  proceeded  without 


A  BIRD-LOVER'S  APRIL.  241 

interruption.  Neither  bird  made  any  outcry, 
although  one  of  them  hopped  round  me,  just 
out  of  reach,  with  evident  curiosity.  He  must 
have  thought  me  a  queer  specimen.  When  I 
drew  my  overcoat  up  after  me  and  put  it  on, 
they  flew  away;  but  within  a  minute  or  two 
they  were  both  back  again,  working  as  merrily 
as  ever,  and  taking  no  pains  not  to  litter  me 
with  their  rubbish.  Once  the  female  (I  took 
it  to  be  she  from  her  smaller  size,  not  from  this 
piece  of  shiftlessness)  dropped  her  load  with- 
out quitting  the  stub,  a  thing  I  had  not  seen 
either  of  them  do  before.  Twice  one  brought 
the  other  something  to  eat.  At  last  the  male 
took  another  turn  at  investigating  my  charac- 
ter, and  it  began  to  look  as  if  he  would  end 
with  alighting  on  my  hat.  This  time,  too,  I 
am  proud  to  say,  the  verdict  was  favorable. 

Their  confidence  was  not  misplaced,  and  un- 
less all  signs  failed  they  reared  a  full  brood  of 
tits.  May  their  tribe  increase !  Of  birds  so 
innocent  and  unobtrusive,  so  graceful,  so  merry- 
hearted,  and  so  musical,  the  world  can  never 
have  too  many. 

16 


AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY. 


Let  Euclid  rest,  and  Archimedes  pause, 

And  what  the  Swede  intends,  and  what  the  French. 

MILTON. 


AN  OWL'S   HEAD   HOLIDAY. 


MY  trip  to  Lake  Memphremagog  was  by  the 
way,  and  was  not  expected  to  detain  me  for 
more  than  twenty-four  hours ;  but  when  I  went 
ashore  at  the  Owl's  Head  Mountain-House,  and 
saw  what  a  lodge  in  the  wilderness  it  was,  I 
said  to  myself,  Go  to,  this  is  the  place ;  Mount 
Mansfield  will  stand  for  another  year  at  least, 
and  I  will  waste  no  more  of  my  precious  fort- 
night amid  dust  and  cinders.  Here  were  to  be 
enjoyed  many  of  the  comforts  of  civilization, 
with  something  of  the  wildness  and  freedom 
of  a  camp.  Out  of  one  of  the  windows  of  my 
large,  well-furnished  room  I  could  throw  a  stone 
into  the  trackless  forest,  where,  any  time  I 
chose,  I  could  make  the  most  of  a  laborious 
half-hour  in  traveling  half  a  mile.  The  other 
two  opened  upon  a  piazza,  whence  the  lake  was 
to  be  seen  stretching  away  northward  for  ten  or 
fifteen  miles,  with  Mount  Orford  and  his  sup- 
porting hills  in  the  near  background ;  while  I 
had  only  to  walk  the  length  of  the  piazza  to 


246  AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY. 

look  round  the  corner  of  the  house  at  Owl's 
Head  itself,  at  whose  base  we  were.  The  hotel 
had  less  than  a  dozen  guests  and  no  piano,  and 
there  was  neither  carriage  -  road  nor  railway 
within  sight  or  hearing.  Yes,  this  was  the 
place  where  I  would  spend  the  eight  days 
which  yet  remained  to  me  of  idle  time. 

Of  the  eight  days  five  were  what  are  called 
unpleasant ;  but  the  unseasonable  cold,  which 
drove  the  stayers  in  the  house  to  huddle  about 
the  fire,  struck  the  mosquitoes  with  a  torpor 
which  made  strolling  in  the  woods  a  double 
luxury  ;  while  the  rain  was  chiefly  of  the  show- 
ery sort,  such  as  a  rubber  coat  and  old  clothes 
render  comparatively  harmless.  Not  that  I 
failed  to  take  a  hand  with  my  associates  in 
grumbling  about  the  weather.  Table-talk 
would  speedily  come  to  an  end  in  such  circum- 
stances if  people  were  forbidden  to  criticise  the 
order  of  nature ;  and  it  is  not  for  me  to  boast 
any  peculiar  sanctity  in  this  respect.  But  when 
all  was  over,  it  had  to  be  acknowledged  that  I, 
for  one,  had  been  kept  in-doors  very  little.  In 
fact,  if  the  whole  truth  were  told,  it  would 
probably  appear  that  my  fellow  boarders,  see- 
ing my  persistency  in  disregarding,  the  inclem- 
ency of  the  elements,  soon  came  to  look  upon 
me  as  decidedly  odd,  though  perhaps  not  abso- 
lutely demented.  At  any  rate,  I  was  rather 


AN  OWDS  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  247 

glad  than  otherwise  to  think  so.  In  those  long 
days  there  must  often  have  been  a  dearth  of 
topics  for  profitable  conversation,  no  matter 
how  outrageous  the  weather,  and  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  believe  that  this  little  idiosyncracy 
of  mine  might  answer  to  fill  here  and  there  a 
gap.  For  what  generous  person  does  not  re- 
joice to  feel  that  even  in  his  absence  he  may  be 
doing  something  for  the  comfort  and  well-being 
of  his  brothers  and  sisters  ?  As  Seneca  said, 
"  Man  is  born  for  mutual  assistance." 

According  to  Osgood's  "  New  England,"  the 
summit  of  Owl's  Head  is  2,743  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  lake,  and  the  path  to  it  is  a  mile 
and  a  half  and  thirty  rods  in  length.  It  may 
seem  niggardly  not  to  throw  off  the  last  petty 
fraction  ;  and  indeed  we  might  well  enough  let 
it  pass  if  it  were  at  the  beginning  of  the  route, 
—  if  the  path,  that  is,  were  thirty  rods  and  a 
mile  and  a  half  long.  But  this,  it  will  be  ob- 
served, is  not  the  case ;  and  it  is  a  fact  per- 
fectly well  attested,  though  perhaps  not  yet 
scientifically  accounted  for  (many  things  are 
known  to  be  true  which  for  the  present  cannot 
be  mathematically  demonstrated),  that  near  the 
top  of  a  mountain  thirty  rods  are  equivalent  to 
a  good  deal  more  than  four  hundred  and  ninety- 
five  feet.  Let  the  guide-book's  specification 
stand,  therefore,  in  all  its  surveyor-like  exact- 


248  AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY. 

ness.  After  making  the  climb  four  times  in 
the  course  of  eight  days,  I  am  not  disposed  to 
abate  so  much  as  a  jot  from  the  official  figures. 
Rather  than  do  that  I  would  pin  my  faith  to 
an  unprofessional-looking  sign-board  in  the  rear 
of  the  hotel,  on  which  the  legend  runs,  "  Sum- 
mit of  Owl's  Head  2£  miles."  For  aught  I 
know,  indeed  (in  such  a  world  as  this,  uncer- 
tainty is  a  principal  mark  of  intelligence),  — 
for  aught  I  know,  both  measurements  may  be 
correct ;  which  fact,  if  once  it  were  established, 
would  easily  and  naturally  explain  how  it  came 
to  pass  that  I  myself  found  the  distance  so 
much  greater  on  some  days  than  on  others  ;  al- 
though, for  that  matter,  which  of  the  two  would 
be  actually  longer,  a  path  which  should  rise 
2,743  feet  in  a  mile  and  a  half,  or  one  that 
should  cover  two  miles  and  a  quarter  in  reach- 
ing the  same  elevation,  is  a  question  to  which 
different  pedestrians  would  likely  enough  re- 
turn contradictory  answers.1 

Yet  let  me  not  be  thought  to  magnify  so 
small  a  feat  as  the  ascent  of  Owl's  Head,  a 
mountain  which  the  ladies  of  the  Appalachian 
Club  may  be  presumed  to  look  upon  as'  hardly 
better  than  a  hillock.  The  guide-book's  "  thirty 

1  The  guide-book  allows  two  hours  for  the  mile  and  a  half  on 
Owl's  Head,  while  it  gives  only  an  hour  and  a  half  for  the  three 
miles  up  Mount  Clinton  —  from  the  Crawford  House. 


AN  OWVS  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  249 

rods  "  have  betrayed  me  into  saying  more  than 
I  intended.  It  would  have  been  enough  had 
I  mentioned  that  the  way  is  in  many  places 
steep,  while  at  the  time  of  my  visit  the  con- 
stant rains  kept  it  in  a  muddy,  treacherous  con- 
dition. I  remember  still  the  undignified  and 
uncomfortable  celerity  with  which,  on  one  oc- 
casion, I  took  my  seat  in  what  was  little  better 
than  the  rocky  bed  of  a  brook,  such  a  place  as 
I  should  by  no  means  have  selected  for  the  pur- 
pose had  I  been  granted  even  a  single  moment 
for  deliberation. 

"  Hills  draw  like  heaven "  (as  applied  to 
some  of  us,  it  may  be  feared  that  this  is  rather 
an  under -statement),  and  it  could  not  have 
been  more  than  fifteen  minutes  after  I  landed 
from  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  —  the  "  Old  Lady," 
as  one  of  the  fishermen  irreverently  called  her 
—  before  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  summit. 

I  was  delighted  then,  as  I  was  afterwards, 
whenever  I  entered  the  woods,  with  the  ex- 
traordinary profusion  and  variety  of  the  ferns. 
Among  the  rest,  and  one  of  the  most  abun- 
dant, was  the  beautiful  Cystopteris  bulbifera;  its 
long,  narrow,  pale  green,  delicately  cut,  Dick- 
sonia-like  fronds  bending  toward  the  ground  at 
the  tip,  as  if  about  to  take  root  for  a  new 
start,  in  the  walking-fern's  manner.  Some  of 
these  could  not  have  been  less  than  four  feet  in 


250  AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY. 

length  (including  the  stipe),  and  I  picked  one 
which  measured  about  two  feet  and  a  half,  and 
bore  twenty-five  bulblets  underneath.  Half  a 
mile  from  the  start,  or  thereabouts,  the  path 
skirts  what  I  should  call  the  fernery  ;  a  cir- 
cular space,  perhaps  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
in  diameter,  set  in  the  midst  of  the  primeval 
forest,  but  itself  containing  no  tree  or  shrub 
of  any  sort,  —  nothing  but  one  dense  mass  of 
ferns.  In  the  centre  was  a  patch  of  the  sensi- 
tive fern  (Onoclea  sensibilis*),  while  around  this, 
and  filling  nearly  the  entire  circle,  was  a  mag- 
nificent thicket  of  the  ostrich  fern  {Onoclea 
struthiopteris),  with  sensibilis  growing  hidden 
and  scattered  underneath.  About  the  edge 
were  various  other  species,  notably  Aspidium 
Goldianum,  which  I  here  found  for  the  first 
time,  and  Aspidium  aculeatum,  var.  Braunii. 
All  in  all,  it  was  a  curious  and  pretty  sight,  — 
this  tiny  tarn  filled  with  ferns  instead  of  water, 
—  one  worth  going  a  good  distance  to  see,  and 
sure  to  attract  the  notice  of  the  least  observant 
traveler.1 

Ferns  are  mostly  of  a  gregarious  habit.    Here 
at  Owl's  Head,  for  instance,  might  be  -seen  in 

1  To  bear  out  what  has  been  said  in  the  text  concerning  the 
abundance  of  ferns  at  Owl's  Head,  I  subjoin  a  list  of  the  species 
observed ;  premising  that  the  first  interest  of  my  trip  was  not 
botanical,  and  that  I  explored  but  a  very  small  section  of  the 
woods : — 


AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  251 

one  place  a  rock  thickly  matted  with  the  com- 
mon polypody ;  in  another  a  patch  of  the 
maiden-hair  ;  in  still  another  a  plenty  of  the 
Christmas  fern,  or  a  smaller  group  of  one  of 
the  beech  ferns  (^Phegopteris  polypodioides  or 
Phegopteris  Dryopteris).  Our  grape- ferns  or 
moonworts,  on  the  other  hand,  covet  more 
elbow-room.  The  largest  species  (Botrychium 
Virginianurn),  although  never  growing  in  any- 
thing like  a  bed  or  tuft,  was  nevertheless  com- 
mon throughout  the  woods ;  you  could  gather 
a  handful  almost  anywhere;  but  I  found  only 
one  plant  of  Botrychium  lanceolatum^  and  only 
two  of  Botrychium  matricaricefolium  (and  these 
a  long  distance  apart),  even  though,  on  account 
of  their  rarity  and  because  I  had  never  before 
seen  the  latter,  I  spent  considerable  time,  first 
and  last,  in  hunting  for  them.  What  can  these 

Polypodium  vulgare.  A.  aculeatum,  var.  Braunii. 

Adiantum  pedatum.  Cystopteris  bulbifera. 

Pteris  aquilina.  C.  fragilis. 

Asplenium  Trichomanes.  Onoclea  struthiopteris. 

A.  thelypteroides.  0.  sensibilis. 

A.  Filix-fczmina.  Woodsia  Ilvensis. 

Phegopteris  polypodioides.  Dicksonia  punctilobula. 

P.  Dryopteris.  Osmunda  regalis. 

Aspidium  marginale.  0.  Claytoniana. 
A.  spinulosum,  variety  undeter-     0.  dnnamomea. 

mined.  Botrychium  lanceolatum. 
A,  spinulosum,  var.  dilatatum.        B.  matricaricefolium. 

A.  Goldianum.  B.  ternatum. 

A.  acrostichoides.  B.  Virginianum. 


252  AN  OWU8  HEAD  HOLIDAY. 

diminutive  hermits  have  ever  done  or  suffered, 
that  they  should  choose  thus  to  live  and  die, 
each  by  itself,  in  the  vast  solitude  of  a  moun- 
tain forest  ? 

It  was  already  the  middle  of  July,  so  that  I 
was  too  late  for  the  better  part  of  the  wood 
flowers.  The  oxalis  (Oxalis  aceto sella),  or 
wood-sorrel  was  in  bloom,  however,  carpeting 
the  ground  in  many  places.  I  plucked  a  blos- 
som now  and  then  to  admire  the  loveliness  of 
the  white  cup,  with  its  fine  purple  lines  and 
golden  spots.  If  each  had  been  painted  on 
purpose  for  a  queen,  they  could  not  have  been 
more  daintily  touched.  Yet  here  they  were, 
opening  by  the  thousand,  with  no  human  eye 
to  look  upon  them.  Quite  as  common  (Words- 
worth's expression,  "  Ground  flowers  in  flocks," 
would  have  suited  either)  was  the  alpine  en- 
chanter's night-shade  ( Circcea  alpina)  ;  a  most 
frail  and  delicate  thing,  though  it  has  little 
other  beauty.  Who  would  ever  mistrust,  to 
see  it,  that  it  would  prove  to  be  connected  in 
any  way  with  the  flaunting  willow-herb,  or  fire- 
weed  ?  But  such  incongruities  are  not  confined 
to  the  "  vegetable  kingdom."  The  wood-nettle 
was  growing  everywhere;  a  juicy-looking  but 
coarse  weed,  resembling  our  common  roadside 
nettles  only  in  its  blossoms.  The  cattle  had 
found  out  what  I  never  should  have  surmised, 


AN  OWDS  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  253 

—  having  had  a  taste  of  its  sting,  —  that  it  is 
good  for  food ;  there  were  great  patches  of  it, 
as  likewise  of  the  pale  touch-me-not  (Impatiens 
pallida),  which  had  been  browsed  over  by 
them.  It  seemed  to  me  that  some  of  the  ferns, 
the  hay-scented  for  example,  ought  to  have 
suited  them  better  ;  but  they  passed  these  all 
by,  as  far  as  I  could  detect.  About  the  edges 
of  the  woods,  and  in  favorable  positions  well 
up  the  mountain-side,  the  flowering  raspberry 
was  flourishing;  making  no  display  of  itself, 
but  offering  to  any  who  should  choose  to  turn 
aside  and  look  at  them  a  few  blossoms  such  as, 
for  beauty  and  fragrance,  are  worthy  to  be,  as 
they  really  are,  cousin  to  the  rose.  On  one  of 
my  rambles  I  came  upon  some  plants  of  a 
strangely  slim  and  prim  aspect;  nothing  but 
a  straight,  erect,  military-looking,  needle-like 
stalk,  bearing  a  spike  of  pods  at  the  top,  and 
clasped  at  the  middle  by  two  small  stemless 
leaves.  By  some  occult  means  (perhaps  their 
growing  with  Tiarella  had  something  to  do  with 
the  matter)  I  felt  at  once  that  these  must  be 
the  mitre-wort  (Mitella  diphylla).  My  pro- 
phetic soul  was  not  always  thus  explicit  and  in- 
fallible, however.  Other  novelties  I  saw,  about 
which  I  could  make  no  such  happy  impromptu 
guess.  And  here  the  manual  afforded  little 
assistance ;  for  it  has  not  yet  been  found  prac- 


254  AN   OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY. 

ticable  to  "  analyze,"  and  so  to  identify  plants 
simply  by  the  stem  and  foliage,  —  although  I 
remember  to  have  been  told,  to  be  sure,  of  a 
young  lady  who  professed  that  at  her  college 
the  instruction  in  botany  was  so  thorough  that 
it  was  possible  for  the  student  to  name  any 
plant  in  the  world  from  seeing  only  a  single 
leaf !  But  her  college  was  not  Harvard,  and 
Professor  Gray  has  probably  never  so  much  as 
heard  of  such  an  admirable  method. 

On  the  whole,  it  is  good  to  have  the  curios- 
ity piqued  with  here  and  there  a  vegetable 
stranger,  —  its  name  and  even  its  family  rela- 
tionship a  mystery.  The  leaf  is  nothing  ex- 
traordinary, perhaps,  yet  who  knows  but  that 
the  bloom  may  be  of  the  rarest  beauty?  Or  the 
leaf  is  of  a  gracious  shape  and  texture,  but  how 
shall  we  tell  whether  the  flower  will  correspond 
with  it  ?  No ;  we  must  do  with  them  as  with 
chance  acquaintances  of  our  own  kind.  The 
man  looks  every  inch  a  gentleman  ;  his  face 
alone  seems  a  sufficient  guaranty  of  good-breed- 
ing and  intelligence  ;  but  none  the  less,  —  and 
not  forgetting  that  charity  thinketh  no  evil,  — 
we  shall  do  well  to  wait  till  we  have  heard  him 
talk  and  seen  how  he  will  behave,  before  we  put 
a  final  label  upon  him.  Wait  forHhe  blossom 
and  the  fruit  (the  blossom  is  the  fruit  in  its 
first  stage)  ;  for  the  old  rule  is  still  the  true 


AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  255 

one,  —  alike  in  botany  and  in  morals,  —  "  By 
their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them." 

What  a  world  within  a  world  the  forest  is ! 
Under  the  trees  were  the  shrubs,  —  knee-high 
rock -maples  making  the  ground  verdant  for 
acres  together,  or  dwarf  thickets  of  yew,  now 
bearing  green  acorn-like  berries ;  while  below 
these  was  a  variegated  carpet,  oxalis  and  the 
flower  of  Linnaeus,  ferns  and  club-mosses  (the 
glossy  Lycopodium  lucidulum  was  especially 
plentiful),  to  say  nothing  of  the  true  mosses 
and  the  lichens. 

Of  all  these  things  I  should  have  seen  more, 
no  doubt,  had  not  my  head  been  so  much  of 
the  time  in  the  tree-tops.  For  yonder  were  the 
birds  ;  and  how  could  I  be  expected  to  notice 
what  lay  at  my  feet,  while  I  was  watching  in- 
tently for  a  glimpse  of  the  warbler  that  flitted 
from  twig  to  twig  amid  the  foliage  of  some  beech 
or  maple,  the  very  lowest  branch  of  which, 
likely  enough,  was  fifty  or  sixty  feet  above  the 
ground.  It  was  in  this  way  (so  I  choose  to  be- 
lieve, at  any  rate)  that  I  walked  four  or  five 
times  directly  over  the  acute-leaved  hepatica 
before  I  finally  discovered  it,  notwithstanding  it 
was  one  of  the  plants  for  which  I  had  all  the 
while  been  on  the  lookout. 

I  said  that  the  birds  were  in  the  tree-tops ; 
but  of  course  there  were  exceptions.  Here  and 


256  AN  OWDS  HEAD  HOLIDAY. 

there  was  a  thrush,  feeding  on  the  ground  ;  or 
an  oven-bird  might  be  seen  picking  his  devious 
way  through  the  underwoods,  in  paths  of  his 
own,  and  with  a  gait  of  studied  and  "  sanctimo- 
nious "  originality.  In  the  list  of  the  lowly 
must  be  put  the  winter  wrens  also  ;  one  need 
never  look  skyward  for  them.  For  a  minute  or 
two  during  my  first  ascent  of  Owl's  Head  I 
had  lively  hopes  of  finding  one  of  their  nests. 
Two  or  three  of  the  birds  were  scolding  ear- 
nestly right  about  my  feet,  as  it  were,  and 
their  cries  redoubled,  or  so  I  imagined,  when  I 
approached  a  certain  large,  moss-grown  stump. 
This  I  looked  over  carefully  on  all  sides,  put- 
ting my  fingers  into  every  possible  hole  and 
crevice,  till  it  became  evident  that  nothing 
was  to  be  gained  by  further  search.  (What 
a  long  chapter  we  could  write,  any  of  us  who 
are  ornithologists,  about  the  nests  we  did  not 
find!)  It  dawned  upon  me  a  little  later  that 
I  had  been  fooled ;  that  it  was  not  the  nest 
which  had  been  in  question  at  all.  That,  wher- 
ever it  was,  had  been  forsaken  some  days  before ; 
and  the  birds  were  parents  and  young,  the  for- 
mer distracting  my  attention  by  their  outcries, 
while  at  the  same  moment  they  \^ere  ordering 
the  youngsters  to  make  off  as  quickly  as  possible, 
lest  yonder  hungry  fiend  should  catch  and  de- 
vour them.  If  wrens  ever  laugh,  this  pair  must 


AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  257 

have  done  so  that  evening,  as  they  recalled  to 
each  other  my  eager  fumbling  of  that  innocent 
old  stump.  This  opinion  as  to  the  meaning  of 
their  conduct  was  confirmed  in  the  course  of  a 
few  days,  when  I  came  upon  another  similar 
group.  These  were  at  first  quite  unaware  of  my 
presence  ;  and  a  very  pretty  family  picture  they 
made,  in  their  snuggery  of  overthrown  trees, 
the  father  breaking  out  into  a  song  once  in  a 
while,  or  helping  his  mate  to  feed  the  young, 
who  were  already  able  to  pick  up  a  good  part 
of  their  own  living.  Before  long,  however,  one 
of  the  pair  caught  sight  of  the  intruder,  and  then 
all  at  once  the  scene  changed.  The  old  birds 
chattered  and  scolded,  bobbing  up  and  down  in 
their  own  ridiculous  manner  (although,  consid- 
ered by  itself,  this  gesture  is  perhaps  no  more 
laughable  than  some  which  other  orators  are 
applauded  for  making),  and  soon  the  place  was 
silent  and  to  all  appearance  deserted. 

Notwithstanding  Owl's  Head  is  in  Canada, 
the  birds,  as  I  soon  found,  were  not  such  as 
characterize  the  "  Canadian  Fauna."  Olive- 
backed  thrushes,  black-poll  warblers,  crossbills, 
pine  linnets,  and  Canada  jays,  all  of  which  I 
had  myself  seen  in  the  White  Mountains,  were 
none  of  them  here  ;  but  instead,  to  my  surprise, 
were  wood  thrushes,  scarlet  tanagers,  and  wood 
pewees,  —  the  two  latter  species  in  comparative 

17 


258  AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY. 

abundance.  My  first  wood  thrush  was  seen  for 
a  moment  only,  and  although  he  had  given  me  a 
plain  sight  of  his  back,  I  concluded  that  my  eyes 
must  once  more  have  played  me  false.  But 
within  a  day  or  two,  when  half-way  down  the 
mountain  path,  I  heard  the  well-known  strain 
ringing  through  the  woods.  It  was  unquestion- 
ably that,  and  nothing  else,  for  I  sat  down  upon 
a  convenient  log  and  listened  for  ten  minutes  or 
more,  while  the  singer  ran  through  all  those 
inimitable  variations  which  infallibly  distinguish 
the  wood  thrush's  song  from  every  other.  And 
afterward,  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  I 
again  saw  the  bird  in  the  best  possible  position, 
and  at  short  range.  On  looking  into  the  sub- 
ject, indeed,  I  learned  that  his  being  here  was 
nothing  wonderful ;  since,  while  it  is  true,  as  far 
as  the  sea-coast  is  concerned,  that  he  seldom 
ventures  north  of  Massachusetts,  it  is  none  the 
less  down  in  the  books  that  he  does  pass  the 
summer  in  Lower  Canada,  reaching  it,  probably, 
by  way  of  the  valley  of  the  St.  Lawrence. 

A  few  robins  were  about  the  hotel,  and  I  saw 
a  single  veery  in  the  woods,  but  the  only  mem- 
bers of  the  thrush  family  that  were  present  in 
large  numbers  were  the  hermits.  These  sang 
everywhere  and  at  all  hours.  On  the  summit, 
even  at  mid-day,  I  was  invariably  serenaded  by 
them.  In  fact  they  seemed  more  abundant 


AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  259 

there  than  anywhere  else  ;  but  they  were  often 
to  be  heard  by  the  lake-side,  and  in  our  apple 
orchard,  and  once  at  least  one  of  them  sang  at 
some  length  from  a  birch-tree  within  a  few  feet 
of  the  piazza,  between  it  and  the  bowling  alley. 
As  far  as  I  have  ever  been  able  to  discover,  the 
hermit,  for  all  his  name  and  consequent  reputa- 
tion, is  less  timorous  and  more  approachable 
than  any  other  New  England  representative  of 
his  "  sub-genus." 

On  this  trip  I  settled  once  more  a  question 
which  I  had  already  settled  several  times,  —  the 
question,  namely,  whether  the  wood  thrush  or 
the  hermit  is  the  better  singer.  This  time  my 
decision  was  in  favor  of  the  former.  How  the 
case  would  have  turned  had  the  conditions  been 
reversed,  had  there  been  a  hundred  of  the  wood 
thrushes  for  one  of  the  hermits,  of  course  I  can- 
not tell.  So  true  is  a  certain  old  Latin  proverb, 
that  in  matters  of  this  sort  it  is  impossible  for 
a  man  to  agree  even  with  himself  for  any  long 
time  together. 

The  conspicuous  birds,  noticed  by  everybody, 
were  a  family  of  hawks.  The  visitor  might 
have  no  appreciation  of  music  ;  he  might  go  up 
the  mountain  and  down  again  without  minding 
the  thrushes  or  the  wrens,  —  for  there  is  nothing 
about  the  human  ear  more  wonderful  than  its 
ability  not  to  hear ;  but  these  hawks  passed  a 


260  AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY. 

good  part  of  every  day  in  screaming,  and  were 
bound  to  be  attended  to  by  all  but  the  stone- 
deaf.  A  native  of  the  region  pointed  out  a 
ledge,  on  which,  according  to  his  account,  they 
had  made  their  nest  for  more  than  thirty  years. 
"  We  call  them  mountain  hawks,"  he  said,  in 
answer  to  an  inquiry.  The  keepers  of  the  hotel, 
naturally  enough,  called  them  eagles  ;  while  a 
young  Canadian,  who  one  day  overtook  me  as 
I  neared  the  summit,  and  spent  an  hour  there 
in  my  company,  pronounced  them  fish-hawks. 
I  asked  him,  carelessly,  how  he  could  be  sure 
of  that,  and  he  replied,  after  a  little  hesitation, 
"  Why,  they  are  all  the  time  over  the  lake  ;  and 
besides,  they  sometimes  dive  into  the  water  and 
come  up  with  a  fish."  The  last  item  would  have 
been  good  evidence,  no  doubt.  My  difficulty 
was  that  I  had  never  seen  them  near  the  lake, 
and  what  was  more  conclusive,  their  heads  were 
dark-colored,  if  not  really  black.  A  few  min- 
utes after  this  conversation  I  happened  to  have 
my  glass  upon  one  of  them  as  he  approached 
the  mountain  at  some  distance  below  us,  when 
my  comrade  asked,  "  Looking  at  that  bird  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  I  answered  ;  on  which  he  continued,  in 
a  matter-of-fact  tone,  "That 's  a  crow; "  plainly 
thinking  that,  as  I  appeared  to  be  slightly  in- 
quisitive about  such  matters,  it  would  be  a  kind- 
ness to  tell  me  a  thing  or  two.  I  made  bold  to 


AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  261 

intimate  that  the  bird  had  a  barred  tail,  and 
must,  I  thought,  be  one  of  the  hawks.  He  did 
not  dispute  the  point ;  and,  in  truth,  he  was  a 
modest  and  well-mannered  young  gentleman. 
I  liked  him  in  that  he  knew  both  how  to  con- 
verse and  how  to  be  silent ;  without  which  latter 
qualification,  indeed,  not  even  an  angel  would  be 
a  desirable  mountain-top  companion.  He  gave 
me  information  about  the  surrounding  country 
such  as  I  was  very  glad  to  get ;  and  in  the  case 
of  the  hawks  my  advantage  over  him,  if  any, 
was  mainly  in  this,  —  that  my  lack  of  knowledge 
partook  somewhat  more  fully  than  his  of  the  na- 
ture of  Lord  Bacon's  "  learned  ignorance,  that 
knows  itself." 

Whatever  the  birds  may  have  been,  "  moun- 
tain hawks,"  "  fish-hawks,"  or  duck-hawks,  their 
aerial  evolutions,  as  seen  from  the  summit,  were 
beautiful  beyond  description.  One  day  in  par- 
ticular three  of  them  were  performing  together. 
For  a  time  they  chased  each  other  this  way 
and  that  at  lightning  speed,  screaming  wildly, 
though  whether  in  sport  or  anger  I  could  not 
determine.  Then  they  floated  majestically,  high 
above  us,  while  now  and  then  one  would  set  his 
wings  and  shoot  down,  down,  till  the  precipitous 
side  of  the  mountain  hid  him  from  view ;  only 
to  reappear  a  minute  afterward,  soaring  again, 
with  no  apparent  effort,  to  his  former  height. 


262  AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY. 

One  of  these  noisy  fellows  served  me  an  ex- 
cellent turn.  It  was  the  last  day  of  my  visit, 
and  I  had  just  taken  my  farewell  look  at  the 
enchanting  prospect  from  the  summit,  when  I 
heard  the  lisp  of  a  brown  creeper.  This  was 
the  first  of  his  kind  that  I  had  seen  here,  and  I 
stopped  immediately  to  watch  him,  in  hopes  he 
would  sing.  Creeper-like  he  tried  one  tree  after 
another  in  quick  succession,  till  at  last,  while  he 
was  exploring  a  dead  spruce  which  had  toppled 
half-way  to  the  ground,  a  hawk  screamed  loudly 
overhead.  Instantly  the  little  creature  flattened 
himself  against  the  trunk,  spreading  his  wings 
to  their  very  utmost  and  ducking  his  head  until, 
though  I  had  been  all  the  while  eying  his  mo- 
tions through  a  glass  at  the  distance  of  only  a 
few  rods,  it  was  almost  impossible  to  believe 
that  yonder  tiny  brown  fleck  upon  the  bark  was 
really  a  bird  and  not  a  lichen.  He  remained  in 
this  posture  for  perhaps  a  minute,  only  putting 
up  his  head  two  or  three  times  to  peer  cautiously 
round.  Unless  I  misjudged  him,  he  did  not 
discriminate  between  the  screech  of  the  hawk 
and  the  ank,  ank  of  a  nuthatch,  which  followed 
it ;  and  this,  with  an  indefinable  something  in 
his  manner,  made  me  suspect  him  of  being  a 
young  bird.  Young  or  old,  however,  he  had 
learned  one  lesson  well,  at  all  events,  one  which 
I  hoped  would  keep  him  out  of  the  talons  of  his 
enemies  for  long  days  to  come. 


AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  263 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  how  cheerfully  he  re- 
sumed work  as  soon  as  the  alarm  was  over. 
This  danger  was  escaped,  at  any  rate ;  and  why 
should  he  make  himself  miserable  with  worry- 
ing about  the  next  ?  He  had  the  true  philoso- 
phy. We  who  pity  the  birds  for  their  number- 
less perils  are  ourselves  in  no  better  case.  Con- 
sumption, fevers,  accidents,  enemies  of  every 
name  are  continually  lying  in  wait  for  our  de- 
struction. We  walk  surrounded  with  them ; 
seeing  them  not,  to  be  sure,  but  knowing,  all 
the  same,  that  they  are  there  ;  yet  feeling,  too, 
like  the  birds,  that  in  some  way  or  other  we 
shall  elude  them  a  while  longer,  and  holding 
at  second  hand  the  truth  which  these  humble 
creatures  practice  upon  instinctively,  —  "  Suffi- 
cient unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof." 

Not  far  from  this  spot,  on  a  previous  occa- 
sion, I  had  very  unexpectedly  come  face  to  face 
with  another  of  the  creeper's  blood-thirsty  per- 
secutors. It  happened  that  a  warbler  was  sing- 
ing in  a  lofty  birch,  and  being  in  doubt  about 
the  song  (which  was  a  little  like  the  Nash- 
ville's, but  longer  in  each  of  its  two  parts  and 
ending  with  a  less  confused  flourish),  I  was  of 
course  very  desirous  to  see  the  singer.  But 
to  catch  sight  of  a  small  bird  amid  thick  foli- 
age, fifty  feet  or  more  above  you,  is  not  an  easy 
matter,  as  I  believe  I  have  already  once  re- 


264  AN  OWDS  HEAD  HOLIDAY. 

marked.  So  when  I  grew  weary  of  the  at- 
tempt, I  bethought  myself  to  try  the  efficacy  of 
an  old  device,  well  known  to  all  collectors,  and 
proceeded  to  imitate,  as  well  as  I  could,  the 
cries  of  some  bird  in  distress.  My  warbler  was 
imperturbable.  He  had  no  nest  or  young  to  be 
anxious  about,  and  kept  on  singing.  But  pretty 
soon  I  was  apprised  of  something  in  the  air, 
coming  toward  me,  and  looking  up,  beheld  a 
large  owl  who  appeared  to  be  dropping  straight 
upon  my  head.  He  saw  me  in  time  to  avoid 
such  a  catastrophe,  however,  and,  describing  a 
graceful  curve,  alighted  on  a  low  branch  near 
by,  and  stared  at  me  as  only  an  owl  can.  Then 
away  he  went,  while  at  the  same  instant  a  jay 
dashed  into  the  thicket  and  out  again,  shouting 
derisively,  "I  saw  you !  I  saw  you!"  Evi- 
dently the  trick  was  a  good  one,  and  moderately 
well  played ;  in  further  confirmation  of  which 
the  owl  hooted  twice  in  response  to  some  pecul- 
iarly happy  efforts  on  my  part,  and  then  actu- 
ally came  back  again  for  another  look.  This 
proved  sufficient,  and  he  quickly  disappeared ; 
retiring  to  his  leafy  covert  or  hollow  tree,  to 
meditate,  no  doubt,  on  the  strange,  creature 
whose  unseasonable  noises  had  disturbed  his 
afternoon  slumbers.  Likely  enough  he  could 
not  readily  fall  asleep  again  for  wondering  how 
I  could  possibly  find  my  way  through  the  woods 


AN   OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  265 

in  the  darkness  of  daylight.  So  difficult  is  it, 
we  may  suppose,  for  even  an  owl  to  put  himself 
in  another's  place  and  see  with  another's  eyes. 

This  little  episode  over,  I  turned  again  to 
the  birch-tree,  and  fortunately  the  warbler's 
throat  was  of  too  fiery  a  color  to  remain  long 
concealed  ;  though  it  was  at  once  a  pleasure 
and  an  annoyance  to  find  myself  still  unac- 
quainted with  at  least  one  song  out  of  the 
Blackburnian's  repertory.  In  times  past  I  had 
carefully  attended  to  his  music,  and  within  only 
a  few  days,  in  the  White  Mountain  Notch,  I 
had  taken  note  of  two  of  its  variations ;  but 
here  was  still  another,  which  neither  began 
with  zillup,  zillup,  nor  ended  with  zip,  zip, 
—  notes  which  I  had  come  to  look  upon  as  the 
Blackburnian's  sign-vocal.  Yet  it  must  have 
been  my  fault,  not  his,  that  I  failed  to  recognize 
him ;  for  every  bird's  voice  has  something  char- 
acteristic about  it,  just  as  every  human  voice 
has  tones  and  inflections  which  those  who  are 
sufficiently  familiar  with  its  owner  will  infalli- 
bly detect.  The  ear  feels  them,  although  words 
cannot  describe  them.  Articulate  speech  is  but 
a  modern  invention,  as  it  were,  in  comparison 
with  the  five  senses  ;  and  since  practice  makes 
perfect,  it  is  natural  enough  that  every  one  of 
the  five  should  easily,  and  as  a  matter  of  course, 
perceive  shades  of  difference  so  slight  that  Ian- 


266    „  AN  OWL'S  HEAD   HOLIDAY. 

guage,  in  its  present  rudimentary  state,  cannot 
begin  to  take  account  of  them. 

The  other  warblers  at  Owl's  Head,  as  far  as 
they  came  under  my  notice,  were  the  black-and- 
white  creeper,  the  blue  yellow-backed  warbler, 
the  Nashville,  the  black-throated  green,  the 
black  -  throated  blue,  the  yellow  -  rumped,  the 
chestnut -sided,  the  oven-bird  (already  spoken 
of),  the  small-billed  water  thrush,  the  Maryland 
yellow-throat,  the  Canadian  flycatcher,  and  the 
redstart. 

The  water  thrush  (I  saw  only  one  individual) 
was  by  the  lake-side,  and  within  a  rod  or  two  of 
the  bowling  alley.  What  a  strange,  composite 
creature  he  is!  thrush,  warbler,  and  sandpiper 
all  in  one ;  with  such  a  bare-footed,  bare-legged 
appearance,  too,  as  if  he  must  always  be  ready 
to  wade  ;  and  such  a  Saint  Vitus's  dance  !  His 
must  be  a  curious  history.  In  particular,  I 
should  like  to  know  the  origin  of  his  teetering 
habit,  which  seems  to  put  him  among  the  beach 
birds.  Can  it  be  that  such  frequenters  of  shal- 
low water  are  rendered  less  conspicuous  by  this 
wave-like,  up-and-down  motion,  and  have  actu- 
ally adopted  it  as  a  means  of  defense,  jus.t  as  they 
and  many  more  have  taken  on  a  color  harmoniz- 
ing with  that  of  their  ordinary  surroundings?1 

1  This  bird  (Siurus  ncevius)  is  remarkable  for  the  promptness 
with  which  he  sets  out  on  his  autumnal  journey,  appearing  in 
Eastern  Massachusetts  early  in  August.  Last  year  (1884)  one  was 


AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  267 

The  black-throated  blue  warblers  were  com- 
mon, and  like  most  of  their  tribe  were  waiting 
upon  offspring  just  out  of  the  nest.  I  watched 
one  as  he  offered  his  charge  a  rather  large  in- 
sect. The  awkward  fledgeling  let  it  fall  three 
times ;  and  still  the  parent  picked  it  up  again, 
only  chirping  mildly,  as  if  to  say,  "  Come,  come, 
my  beauty,  don't  be  quite  so  bungling."  But 
even  in  the  midst  of  their  family  cares,  they 
still  found  leisure  for  music ;  and  as  they  and 
the  black-throated  greens  were  often  singing  to- 
gether, I  had  excellent  opportunities  to  compare 
the  songs  of  the  two  species.  The  voices,  while 
both  very  peculiar,  are  at  the  same  time  so 
nearly  alike  that  it  was  impossible  for  me  on 
hearing  the  first  note  of  either  strain  to  tell 
whose  it  was.  With  the  voice  the  similarity 
ends,  however  ;  for  the  organ  does  not  make 
the  singer,  and  while  the  blue  seldom  attempts 
more  than  a  harsh,  monotonous  kree,  kree,  kree, 
the  green  possesses  the  true  lyrical  gift,  so  that 

in  my  door-yard  on  the  morning  of  the  7th.  I  heard  his  loud  chip, 
and  looking  out  of  the  window,  saw  him  first  on  the  ground  and 
then  in  an  ash-tree  near  a  crowd  of  house  sparrows.  The  latter 
were  scolding  at  him  with  their  usual  cordiality,  while  he,  on  his 
part,  seemed  under  some  kind  of  fascination,  returning  again  and 
again  to  walk  as  closely  as  he  dared  about  the  blustering  crew. 
His  curiosity  was  laughable.  Evidently  he  thought,  considering 
what  an  ado  the  sparrows  were  making,  that  something  serious 
must  be  going  on,  something  worth  any  bird's  while  to  turn  aside 
for  a  moment  to  look  into.  The  innocent  recluse  !  if  he  had  lived 
where  I  do  he  would  have  grown  used  to  such  "  windy  congresses." 


268  AN  OWDS  HEAD  HOLIDAY. 

few  of  our  birds  have  a  more  engaging  song  than 
his  simple  Trees,  trees,  murmuring  trees,  or  if 
you  choose  to  understand  it  so,  Sleep,  sleep, 
pretty  one,  sleep.1 

I  saw  little  of  the  blue  yellow-backed  war- 
bler, but  whenever  I  took  the  mountain  path  I 
was  certain  to  hear  his  whimsical  upward-run- 
ning song,  broken  off  at  the  end  with  a  smart 
snap.  He  seemed  to  have  chosen  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  fernery  for  his  peculiar  haunt,  a 
piece  of  good  taste  quite  in  accord  with  his  gen- 
eral character.  Nothing  could  well  be  more 
beautiful  than  this  bird's  plumage ;  and  his 
nest,  which  is  "  globular,  with  an  entrance  on 
\  one  side,"  is  described  as  a  wonder  of  elegance ; 
while  in  grace  of  movement  not  even  the  tit- 
mouse can  surpass  him.  Strange  that  such  an 
exquisite  should  have  so  fantastic  a  song. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  rainy  weather.  There 
were  times  when  the  piazza  was  as  far  out-of- 
doors  as  it  was  expedient  to  venture.  But  even 
then  I  was  not  without  excellent  feathered 
society.  Red-eyed  vireos  (one  pair  had  their 

1  After  all  that  has  been  said  about  the  ''pathetic  fallacy,"  so 
called,  it  remains  true  that  Nature  speaks  to  us  according  to  our 
mood.  With  all  her  "various  language"  she  " cannot  talk  and 
find  ears  too."  And  so  it  happens  that  somg,  listening  to  the 
black-throated  green  warbler,  have  brought  back  a  report  of 
"  Cheese,  cheese,  a  little  more  cheese"  Prosaic  and  hungry 
souls !  This  voice  out  of  the  pine-trees  was  not  for  them.  They 
have  caught  the  rhythm  but  missed  the  poetry. 


AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  269 

nest  within  twenty  feet  of  the  hotel),  chippers, 
song  sparrows,  snow-birds,  robins,  waxwings, 
and  phcebes  were  to  be  seen  almost  any  mo- 
ment, while  the  hermit  thrushes,  as  I  have  be- 
fore mentioned,  paid  us  occasional  visits.  The 
most  familiar  of  our  door-yard  friends,  however, 
to  my  surprise,  were  the  yellow-rumped  war- 
blers. Till  now  I  had  never  found  them  at 
home  except  in  the  forests  of  the  White  Moun- 
tains ;  but  here  they  were,  playing  the  rdle 
which  in  Massachusetts  we  are  accustomed  to 
see  taken  by  the  summer  yellow-birds,  and  by 
no  others  of  the  family.  At  first,  knowing  that 
this  species  was  said  to  build  in  low  evergreens, 
I  looked  suspiciously  at  some  small  spruces 
which  lined  the  walk  to  the  pier ;  but  after  a 
while  I  happened  to  see  one  of  the  birds  flying 
into  a  rock-maple  with  something  in  his  bill,  and 
following  him  with  my  eye,  beheld  him  alight 
on  the  edge  of  his  nest.  "About  four  feet 
from  the  ground,"  the  book  said  (the  latest 
book,  too) ;  but  this  lawless  pair  had  chosen  a 
position  which  could  hardly  be  less  than  ten 
times  that  height,  —  considerably  higher,  at  all 
events,  than  the  eaves  of  the  three-story  house. 
It  was  out  of  reach  in  the  small  topmost 
branches,  but  I  watched  its  owners  at  my  leis- 
ure, as  the  maple  was  not  more  than  two  rods 
from  my  window.  At  this  time  the  nestlings 


270  AN   OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY. 

were  nearly  ready  to  fly,  and  in  the  course  of  a 
day  or  two  I  saw  one  of  them  sitting  in  a  tree  in 
the  midst  of  a  drenching  rain.  On  my  offering 
to  lay  hold  of  him  he  dropped  into  the  grass, 
and  when  I  picked  him  up  both  parents  began 
to  fly  about  me  excitedly,  with  loud  outcries. 
The  male,  especially,  went  nearly  frantic,  enter- 
ing the  bowling  alley  where  I  happened  to  be, 
and  alighting  on  the  floor ;  then,  taking  to  the 
bole  of  a  tree,  he  fluttered  helplessly  upon  it, 
spreading  his  wings  and  tail,  seeming  to  say  as 
plainly  as  words  could  have  done,  "  Look,  you 
monster  !  here 's  another  young  bird  that  can't 
fly ;  why  don't  you  come  and  catch  him  ? " 
The  acting  was  admirable,  —  all  save  the  spread- 
ing of  the  tail ;  that  was  a  false  note,  for  the 
youngster  in  my  hand  had  no  tail  feathers  at 
all.  I  put  the  fellow  upon  a  tree,  whence  he 
quickly  flew  to  the  ground  (he  could  fly  down 
but  not  up),  and  soon  both  parents  were  again 
supplying  him  with  food.  The  poor  thing  had 
not  eaten  a  morsel  for  possibly  ten  minutes,  a 
very  long  fast  for  a  bird  of  his  age.  I  hoped  he 
would  fall  into  the  hands  of  no  worse  enemy 
than  myself,  but  the  chances  seemed  against 
him.  The  first  few  days  after  quitting  the  nest 
must  be  full  of  perils  for  such  helpless  inno- 
cents. 

For  the  credit  of  my  own  sex  I  was  pleased 


AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  271 

to  notice  that  it  was  the  father-bird  who  man- 
ifested the  deepest  concern  and  the  readiest 
wit,  not  to  say  the  greatest  courage ;  but  I  am 
obliged  in  candor  to  acknowledge  that  this  fea- 
ture of  the  case  surprised  me  not  a  little. 

In  what  language  shall  I  speak  of  the  song  of 
these  familiar  myrtle  warblers,  so  that  my  praise 
may  correspond  in  some  degree  with  the  gracious 
and  beautiful  simplicity  of  the  strain  itself  ? 
For  music  to  be  heard  constantly,  right  under 
one's  window,  it  could  scarcely  be  improved ; 
sweet,  brief,  and  remarkably  unobtrusive,  with- 
out sharpness  or  emphasis ;  a  trill  not  altogether 
unlike  the  pine-creeping  warbler's,  but  less  mat- 
ter-of-fact and  business-like.  I  used  to  listen 
to  it  before  I  rose  in  the  morning,  and  it  was 
to  be  heard  at  intervals  all  day  long.  Occasion- 
ally it  was  given  in  an  absent-minded,  medi- 
tative way,  in  a  kind  of  .half-voice,  as  if  the 
happy  creature  had  no  thought  of  what  he  was 
doing.  Then  it  was  at  its  best,  but  one  needed 
to  be  near  the  singer. 

In  a  clearing  back  of  the  hotel,  but  sur- 
rounded by  the  forest,  were  always  a  goodly 
company  of  birds,  among  the  rest  a  family  of 
yellow-bellied  woodpeckers ;  and  in  a  second 
similar  place  were  white  -  throated  sparrows, 
Maryland  yellow  -  throats,  and  chestnut -sided 
warblers,  the  last  two  feeding  their  young. 


272  AN  OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY. 

Immature  warblers  are  a  puzzling  set.  The 
birds  themselves  have  no  difficulty,  I  suppose ; 
but  seeing  young  and  old  together,  and  noting 
how  unlike  they  are,  I  have  before  now  been 
reminded  of  Launcelot  Gobbo's  saying,  "  It  is 
a  wise  father  that  knows  his  own  child." 

While  traversing  the  woods  between  these 
two  clearings  I  saw,  as  I  thought,  a  chimney 
swift  fly  out  of  the  top  of  a  tree  which  had  been 
broken  off  at  a  height  of  twenty-five  or  thirty 
feet.  I  stopped,  and  pretty  soon  the  thing  was 
repeated ;  but  even  then  I  was  not  quick  enough 
to  be  certain  whether  the  bird  really  came  from 
the  stump  or  only  out  of  the  forest  behind  it. 
Accordingly,  after  sounding  the  trunk  to  make 
sure  it  was  hollow,  I  sat  down  in  a  clump  of 
raspberry  bushes,  where  I  should  be  sufficiently 
concealed,  and  awaited  further  developments. 
I  waited  and  waited,  while  the  mosquitoes, 
seeing  how  sheltered  I  was  from  the  breeze, 
gathered  about  my  head  in  swarms.  A  win- 
ter wren  at  my  elbow  struck  up  to  sing,  going 
over  and  over  with  his  exquisite  tune ;  and  a 
scarlet  tanager,  also,  not  far  off,  did  what  he 
could  —  which  was  somewhat  less  than  the 
wren's  —  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  my  situation. 
Finally,  when  my  patience  was  well-nigh  ex- 
hausted, —  for  the  afternoon  was  wearing  away 
and  I  had  some  distance  to  walk,  —  a  swift  flew 


AN  OWDS  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  273 

past  me  from  behind,  and,  with  none  of  that 
poising  over  the  entrance  such  as  is  commonly 
seen  when  a  swift  goes  down  a  chimney,  went 
straight  into  the  trunk.  In  half  a  minute  or 
less  he  reappeared  without  a  sound,  and  was 
out  of  sight  in  a  second.  Then  I  picked  up  my 
rubber  coat,  and  with  a  blessing  on  the  wren 
and  the  tanager,  and  a  malediction  on  the  mos- 
quitoes (so  unjust  does  self-interest  make  us), 
started  homeward. 

Conservatives  and  radicals  !  Even  the  swifts, 
it  seems,  are  divided  into  these  two  classes. 
"  Hollow  trees  were  good  enough  for  our  fa- 
thers ;  who  are  we  that  we  should  assume  to 
know  more  than  all  the  generations  before  us  ? 
To  change  is  not  of  necessity  to  make  progress. 
Let  those  who  will,  take  up  with  smoky  chim- 
neys ;  for  our  part  we  prefer  the  old  way." 

Thus  far  the  conservatives ;  but  now  comes 
the  party  of  modern  ideas.  "  All  that  is  very 
well,"  say  they.  "  Our  ancestors  were  worthy 
folk  enough ;  they  did  the  best  they  could  in 
their  time.  But  the  world  moves,  and  wise 
birds  will  move  with  it.  Why  should  we  make 
a  fetish  out  of  some  dead  forefather's  example  ? 
We  are  alive  now.  To  refuse  to  take  advan- 
tage of  increased  light  and  improved  condi- 
tions may  look  like  filial  piety  in  the  eyes  of 
some :  to  us  such  conduct  appears  nothing  better 

18 


274  AN  OWL'S  HEAD   HOLIDAY. 

than  a  distrust  of  the  Divine  Providence,  a  sub- 
tle form  of  atheism.  What  are  chimneys  for, 
pray  ?  And  as  for  soot  and  smoke,  we  were 
made  to  live  in  them.  Otherwise,  let  some  of 
our  opponents  be  kind  enough  to  explain  why 
we  were  created  with  black  feathers." 

So,  in  brief,  the  discussion  runs  ;  with  the 
usual  result,  no  doubt,  that  each  side  convinces 
itself. 

We  may  assume,  however,  that  these  old- 
school  and  new-school  swifts  do  not  carry  their 
disagreement  so  far  as  actually  to  refuse  to  hold 
fellowship  with  one  another.  Conscience  is  but 
imperfectly  developed  in  birds,  as  yet,  and  they 
can  hardly  feel  each  other's  sins  and  errors  of 
belief  (if  indeed  these  things  be  two,  and  not 
one)  quite  so  keenly  as  men  are  accustomed  to 
do. 

After  all,  it  is  something  to  be  grateful  for, 
this  diversity  of  habit.  We  could  not  spare 
the  swifts  from  our  villages,  and  it  would  be 
too  bad  to  lose  them  out  of  the  Northern  for- 
ests. May  they  live  and  thrive,  both  parties 
of  them. 

I  am  glad,  also,  for  the  obscurity  which  at- 
tends their  annual  coming  and  going."  Whether 
they  hibernate  or  migrate,  the  secret  is  their 
own ;  and  for  my  part,  I  wish  them  the  wit  to 
keep  it.  In  this  age,  when  the  world  is  in  such 


AN   OWL'S  HEAD  HOLIDAY.  275 

danger  of  becoming  omniscient  before  the  time, 
it  is  good  to  have  here  and  there  a  mystery  in 
reserve.  Though  it  be  only  a  little  one,  we  may 
well  cherish  it  as  a  treasure. 


A  MONTH'S  MUSIC. 


And  now  >t  was  like  all  instruments, 
Now  like  a  lonely  flute ; 
And  now  it  is  an  angel's  song, 
That  makes  the  heavens  be  mute. 

COLERIDGE. 


A  MONTH'S  MUSIC. 


THE  morning  of  May-day  was  bright  and 
spring-like,  and  should  have  been  signalized,  it 
seemed  to  me,  by  the  advent  of  a  goodly  num- 
ber of  birds  ;  but  the  only  new-comer  to  be  found 
was  a  single  black-and-white  creeper.  Glad  as 
I  was  to  see  this  lowly  acquaintance  back  again 
after  his  seven  months'  absence,  and  natural  as 
he  looked  on  the  edge  of  Warbler  Swamp,  bob- 
bing along  the  branches  in  his  own  unique,  end- 
for-end  fashion,  there  was  no  resisting  a  sensa- 
tion of  disappointment.  Why  could  not  the 
wood  thrush  have  been  punctual?  He  would 
have  made  the  woods  ring  with  an  ode  worthy 
of  the  festival.  Possibly  the  hermits  —  who 
had  been  with  us  for  several  days  in  silence  — 
divined  my  thoughts.  At  all  events,  one  of  them 
presently  broke  into  a  song  —  the  first  Hylo- 
cichla  note  of  the  year.  Never  was  voice  more 
beautiful.  Like  the  poet's  dream,  it  "  left  my 
after-morn  content." 

It  is  too  much  to  be  expected  that  the  wood 


280  A  MONTH'S  MUSIC. 

thrush  should  hold  himself  bound  to  appear  at 
a  given  point  on  a  fixed  date.  How  can  we 
know  the  multitude  of  reasons,  any  one  of  which 
may  detain  him  for  twenty-four  hours,  or  even 
for  a  week  ?  It  is  enough  for  us  to  be  assured, 
in  general,  that  the  first  ten  days  of  the  month 
will  bring  this  master  of  the  choir.  The  pres- 
ent season  he  arrived  on  the  6th  —  the  veery 
with  him ;  last  year  he  was  absent  until  the 
8th  ;  while  on  the  two  years  preceding  he  as- 
sisted at  the  observance  of  May-day. 

All  in  all,  I  must  esteem  this  thrush  our  great- 
est singer  ;  although  the  hermit  might  dispute 
the  palm,  perhaps,  but  that  he  is  merely  a  semi- 
annual visitor  in  most  parts  of  Massachusetts. 
If  perfection  be  held  to  consist  in  the  absence 
of  flaw,  the  hermit's  is  unquestionably  the  more 
nearly  perfect  song  of  the  two.  Whatever  he 
attempts  is  done  beyond  criticism  ;  but  his  range 
and  variety  are  far  less  than  his  rival's,  and,  for 
my  part,  I  can  forgive  the  latter  if  now  and  then 
he  reaches  after  a  note  lying  a  little  beyond  his 
best  voice,  and  withal  is  too  commonly  wanting 
in  that  absolute  simplicity  and  ease  which  lend 
such  an  ineffable  charm  to  the  performance  of 
the  hermit  and  the  veery.  Shakespeare  is  not  a 
faultless  poet,  but  in  the  existing  state  of  public 
opinion  it  will  hardly  do  to  set  Gray  above  him. 

In  the  course  of  the  month  about  which  I  am 


A  MONTH'S  MUSIC.  281 

now  writing  (May,  1884)  I  was  favored  with 
thrush  music  to  a  quite  unwonted  degree.  With 
the  exception  of  the  varied  thrush  (a  New-Eng- 
lander  by  accident  only)  and  the  mocking-bird, 
there  was  not  one  of  our  Massachusetts  repre- 
sentatives of  the  family  who  did  not  put  me  in 
his  debt.  The  robin,  the  brown  thrush,  the  cat- 
bird, the  wood  thrush,  the  veery,  and  even  the 
hermit  (what  a  magnificent  sextette  !)  —  so 
many  I  counted  upon  hearing,  as  a  matter  of 
course  ;  but  when  to  these  were  added  the  Arc- 
tic thrushes  —  the  olive-backed  and  the  gray- 
cheeked  —  I  gladly  confessed  surprise.  I  had 
never  heard  either  species  before,  south  of  the 
White  Mountains  ;  nor,  as  far  as  I  then  knew, 
had  anybody  else  been  more  fortunate  than 
myself.  Yet  the  birds  themselves  were  seem- 
ingly unaware  of  doing  anything  new  or  note- 
worthy. This  was  especially  the  case  with  the 
olive-backs  ;  and  after  listening  to  them  for  three 
days  in  succession  I  began  to  suspect  that  they 
were  doing  nothing  new,  —  that  they  had  sung 
every  spring  in  the  same  manner,  only,  in  the 
midst  of  the  grand  May  medley,  my  ears  had 
somehow  failed  to  take  account  of  their  contri- 
bution. Their  fourth  (and  farewell)  appear- 
ance was  on  the  23d,  when  they  sang  both  morn- 
ing and  evening.  At  that  time  they  were  in  a 
bit  of  swamp,  among  some  tall  birches,  and  as 


282  A  MONTH'S  MUSIC. 

I  caught  the  familiar  and  characteristic  notes 
—  a  brief  ascending  spiral  —  I  was  almost  ready 
to  believe  myself  in  some  primeval  New  Hamp- 
shire forest  ;  an  illusion  not  a  little  aided  by  the 
frequent  lisping  of  black-poll  warblers,  who 
chanced  just  then  to  be  remarkably  abundant. 

It  was  on  the  same  day,  and  within  a  short  dis- 
tance of  the  same  spot,  that  the  Alice  thrushes, 
or  gray-cheeks,  were  in  song.  Their  music  was 
repeated  a  good  many  times,  but  unhappily  it 
ceased  whenever  I  tried  to  get  near  the  birds. 
Then,  as  always,  it  put  me  in  mind  of  the 
veery's  effort,  notwithstanding  a  certain  part 
of  the  strain  was  quite  out  of  the  veery's  man- 
ner, and  the  whole  was  pitched  in  decidedly 
too  high  a  key.  It  seemed,  also,  as  if  what  I 
heard  could  not  be  the  complete  song ;  but  I 
had  been  troubled  with  the  same  feeling  on 
previous  occasions,  and  a  friend  whose  oppor- 
tunities have  been  better  than  mine  reports  a 
similiar  experience  ;  so  that  it  is  perhaps  not 
uncharitable  to  conclude  that  the  song,  even  at 
its  best,  is  more  or  less  broken  and  amorphous. 

In  their  Northern  homes  these  gray-cheeks 
are  excessively  wild  and  unapproachable  ;  but 
while  traveling  they  are  little  if  ftt  all  worse 
than  their  congeners  in  this  respect,  —  taking 
short  flights  when  disturbed,  and  often  doing 
nothing  more  than  to  hop  upon  some  low  perch 
to  reconnoitre  the  intruder. 


A  MONTH'S  MUSIC.  283 

At  the  risk  of  being  thought  to  reflect  upon 
the  acuteness  of  more  competent  observers,  I  am 
free  to  express  my  hope  of  hearing  the  music  of 
both  these  noble  visitors  again  another  season. 
For  it  is  noticeable  how  common  such  things 
tend  to  become  when  once  they  are  discovered. 
An  enthusiastic  botanical  collector  told  me  that 
for  years  he  searched  far  and  near  for  the  adder 's- 
tongue  fern,  till  one  day  he  stumbled  upon  it  in 
a  place  over  which  he  had  long  been  in  the  habit 
of  passing.  Marking  the  peculiarities  of  the 
spot  he  straightway  wrote  to  a  kindred  spirit, 
whom  he  knew  to  have  been  engaged  in  the 
same  hunt,  suggesting  that  he  would  probably 
find  the  coveted  plants  in  a  particular  section 
of  the  meadow  back  of  his  own  house  (in  Con- 
cord) ;  and  sure  enough,  the  next  day's  mail 
brought  an  envelope  from  his  friend,  inclosing 
specimens  of  Ophioglossum  vulgatum,  with  the 
laconic  but  sufficient  message,  Eureka  !  There 
are  few  naturalists,  I  suspect,  who  could  not 
narrate  adventures  of  a  like  sort. 

One  such  befell  me  during  this  same  month, 
in  connection  with  the  wood  wagtail,  or  golden- 
crowned  thrush.  Not  many  birds  are  more 
abundant  than  he  in  my  neighborhood,  and  I 
fancied  myself  pretty  well  acquainted  with  his 
habits  and  manners.  Above  all,  I  had  paid 
attention  to  his  celebrated  love-song,  listening 


284  A  MONTH'S  MUSIC. 

to  it  almost  daily  for  several  summers.  Thus 
far  it  had  invariably  been  given  out  in  the  after- 
noon, and  on  the  wing.  To  my  mind,  indeed, 
this  was  by  far  its  most  interesting  feature  (for 
in  itself  the  song  is  by  no  means  of  surpassing 
beauty),  and  I  had  even  been  careful  to  record 
the  earliest  hour  at  which  I  had  heard  it  —  three 
o'clock  P.  M.  But  on  the  6th  of  May  aforesaid 
I  detected  a  bird  practicing  this  very  tune  in 
the  morning,  and  from  a  perch  !  I  set  the  fact 
down  without  hesitation  as  a  wonder,  —  a  purely 
exceptional  occurrence,  the  repetition  of  which 
was  not  to  be  looked  for.  Anything  might  hap- 
pen once.  Only  four  days  afterwards,  however, 
at  half-past  six  in  the  morning,  I  had  stooped 
to  gather  some  peculiarly  bright-colored  anem- 
ones (I  can  see  the  patch  of  rosy  blossoms  at 
this  moment,  although  I  am  writing  by  a  blaz- 
ing fire  while  the  snow  is  falling  without),  when 
my  ear  caught  the  same  song  again  ;  and  keep- 
ing my  position,  I  soon  descried  the  fellow  step- 
ping through  the  grass  within  ten  yards  of  me, 
caroling  as  he  walked.  The  hurried  warble, 
with  the  common  Weechee,  weechee,  weechee 
interjected  in  the  midst,  was  reiterated'  perhaps 
a  dozen  times,  —  the  full  evening  -strain,  but  in 
a  rather  subdued  tone.  He  was  under  no  excite- 
ment, and  appeared  to  be  entirely  by  himself ; 
in  fact,  when  he  had  made  about  half  the  cir- 


A  MONTH'S  MUSIC.  285 

cuit  round  me  he  flew  into  a  low  bush  and  pro- 
ceeded to  dress  his  feathers  listlessly.  Probably 
what  I  had  overheard  was  nothing  more  than  a 
rehearsal.  Within  a  week  or  two  he  would  need 
to  do  his  very  best  in  winning  the  fair  one  of 
his  choice,  and  for  that  supreme  moment  he  had 
already  put  himself  in  training.  The  wise- 
hearted  and  obliging  little  beau !  I  must  have 
been  the  veriest  churl  not  to  wish  him  his  pick 
of  all  the  feminine  wagtails  in  the  wood.  As 
for  the  pink  anemones,  they  had  done  me  a 
double  kindness,  in  requital  for  which  I  could 
only  carry  them  to  the  city,  where,  in  their 
modesty,  they  would  have  blushed  to  a  down- 
right crimson  had  they  been  conscious  of  one- 
half  the  admiration  which  their  loveliness  called, 
forth. 

Before  the  end  of  the  month  (it  was  on  the 
morning  of  the  18th)  I  once  more  heard  the 
wagtail's  song  from  the  ground.  This  time  the 
affair  was  anything  but  a  rehearsal.  There" 
were  two  birds,  —  a  lover  and  his  lass,  —  and 
the  wooing  waxed  fast  and  furious.  For  that 
matter,  it  looked  not  so  much  like  love-making 
as  like  an  aggravated  case  of  assault  and  battery. 
But,  as  I  say,  the  male  was  warbling,  and  not 
improbably  (so  strange  are  the  ways  of  the 
world),  if  he  had  been  a  whit  less  pugnacious  in 
his  addresses,  his  lady-love,  who  was  plainly  well 


286  A  MONTH'S   MUSIC. 

able  to  take  care  of  herself,  would  have  thought 
him  deficient  in  earnestness.  At  any  rate,  the 
wood  wagtail  is  not  the  only  bird  whose  court- 
ship has  the  appearance  of  a  scrimmage ;  and  I 
believe  there  are  still  tribes  of  men  among  whom 
similar  practices  prevail,  although  the  greater 
part  of  our  race  have  learned,  by  this  time,  to 
take  somewhat  less  literally  the  old  proverb, 
"  None  but  the  brave  deserve  the  fair."  Love, 
it  is  true,  is  still  recognized  as  one  of  the  pas- 
sions (in  theory  at  least)  even  among  the  most 
highly  civilized  peoples  ;  but  the  tendency  is 
more  and  more  to  count  it  a  tender  passion. 

While  I  am  on  the  subject  of  marriage  I  may 
as  well  mention  the  white-eyed  vireo.  It  had 
come  to  be  the  16th  of  the  month,  and  as  yet 
I  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  anything  of  this 
obstreperous  genius  ;  so  I  made  a  special  pil- 
grimage to  a  certain  favorite  haunt  of  his  — 
Woodcock  Swamp  —  to  ascertain  if  he  had  ar- 
-  rived.  After  fifteen  minutes  or  more  of  wait- 
ing I  was  beginning  to  believe  him  still  absent, 
when  he  burst  out  suddenly  with  his  loud  and 
unmistakable  Chip  -a-  wee -o.  "  Who  are  you, 
now?"  the  saucy  fellow  seemed  to  say,  "Who 
are  you,  now  ? "  Pretty  soon  a  pair  of  the 
birds  appeared  near  me,  the  male  protesting  his 
affection  at  a  frantic  rate,  and  the  female  re- 
pelling his  advances  with  a  snappish  determina- 


A  MONTH'S  MUSIC.  287 

tion  which  might  have  driven  a  timid  suitor 
desperate.  He  posed  before  her,  puffing  out  his 
feathers,  spreading  his  tail,  and  crying  hysteri- 
cally, Yip,  yip,  yaah,  —  the  last  note  a  down- 
right whine  or  snarl,  worthy  of  the  cat-bird. 
Poor  soul !  he  was  well-nigh  beside  himself,  and 
could  not  take  no  for  an  answer,  even  when  the 
word  was  emphasized  with  an  ugly  dab  of  his 
beloved's  beak.  The  pair  shortly  disappeared 
in  the  swamp,  and  I  was  not  privileged  to  wit- 
ness the  upshot  of  the  battle  ;  but  I  consoled 
myself  with  believing  that  Phyllis  knew  how 
far  she  could  prudently  carry  her  resistance, 
and  would  have  the  discretion  to  yield  before 
her  adorer's  heart  was  irremediably  broken. 

In  this  instance  there  was  no  misconceiv- 
ing the  meaning  of  the  action  ;  but  whoever 
watches  birds  in  the  pairing  season  is  often  at 
his  wit's  end  to  know  what  to  make  of  their 
demonstrations.  One  morning  a  linnet  chased 
another  past  me  down  the  road,  flying  at  the 
very  top  of  his  speed,  and  singing  as  he  flew ; 
not,  to  be  sure,  the  full  and  copious  warble  such 
as  is  heard  when  the  bird  hovers,  but  still  a 
lively  tune.  I  looked  on  in  astonishment.  It 
seemed  incredible  that  any  creature  could  sing 
while  putting  forth  such  tremendous  muscular 
exertions ;  and  yet,  as  if  to  show  that  this  was 
a  mere  nothing  to  him,  the  finch  had  no  sooner 


288  A  MONTH'S  MUSIC. 

struck  a  perch  than  he  broke  forth  again  in  his 
loudest  and  most  spirited  manner,  and  contin- 
ued without  a  pause  for  two  or  three  times  the 
length  of  his  longest  ordinary  efforts.  "  What 
lungs  he  must  have !  "  I  said  to  myself  ;  and  at 
once  fell  to  wondering  what  could  have  stirred 
him  up  to  such  a  pitch  of  excitement,  and 
whether  the  bird  he  had  been  pursuing  was 
male  or  female.  He  would  have  said,  perhaps, 
if  he  had  said  anything,  that  that  was  none  of 
my  business. 

What  I  have  been  remarking  with  regard  to 
the  proneness  of  newly  discovered  things  to  be- 
come all  at  once  common  was  well  illustrated 
for  me  about  this  time  by  these  same  linnets, 
or  purple  finches.  One  rainy  morning,  while 
making  my  accustomed  rounds,  enveloped  in 
rubber,  I  stopped  to  notice  a  blue-headed  vireo, 
who,  as  I  soon  perceived,  was  sitting  lazily  in 
the  top  of  a  locust-tree,  looking  rather  discon- 
solate, and  ejaculating  with  not  more  than  half 
his  customary  voice  and  emphasis,  Mary  Ware  ! 
—  Mary  Ware  !  His  indolence  struck  me  as 
very  surprising  for  a  vireo  ;  still  I  had  no  ques- 
tion about  his  identity  (he  sat  between  me  and 
the  sun)  till  I  changed  my  position,  when  be- 
hold 19  the  vireo  was  a  linnet.  A  strange  per- 
formance, indeed  !  What  could  have  set  this 
fluent  vocalist  to  practicing  exercises  of  such  an 


A  MONTH'S  MUSIC.  289 

inferior,  disconnected,  piecemeal  sort  ?  Within 
the  next  week  or  two,  however,  the  same  game 
was  played  upon  me  several  times,  and  in  dif- 
ferent places.  No  doubt  the  trick  is  an  old  one, 
familiar  to  many  observers,  but  to  me  it  had  all 
the  charm  of  novelty. 

There  are  no  birds  so  conservative  but  that 
they  will  now  and  then  indulge  in  some  unex- 
pected stroke  of  originality.  Few  are  more  art- 
less and  regular  in  their  musical  efforts  than 
the  pine  warblers ;  yet  I  have  seen  one  of  these 
sitting  at  the  tip  of  a  tree,  and  repeating  a  trill 
which  toward  the  close  invariably  declined  by 
an  interval  of  perhaps  three  tones.  Even  the 
chipping  sparrow,  whose  lay  is  yet  more  mo- 
notonous and  formal  than  the  pine  warbler's,  is 
not  absolutely  confined  to  his  score.  I  once 
heard  him  when  his  trill  was  divided  into  two 
portions,  the  concluding  half  being  much  higher 
than  the  other  —  unless  my  ear  was  at  fault, 
exactly  an  octave  higher.  This  singular  refrain 
was  given  out  six  or  eight  times  without  the 
slightest  alteration.  Such  freaks  as  these,  how- 
ever, are  different  from  the  linnet's  Mary  Ware, 
inasmuch  as  they  are  certainly  the  idiosyncra- 
sies of  single  birds,  not  a  part  of  the  artistic 
proficiency  of  the  species  as  a  whole. 

During  this  month  I  was  lucky  enough  to 
close  a  little  question  which  I  had  been  hold- 

19 


290  A  MONTH'S  MUSIC. 

ing"  open  for  a  number  of  years  concerning  our 
very  common  and  familiar  black-throated  green 
warbler.  This  species,  as  is  well  known,  has 
two  perfectly  well-defined  tunes  of  about  equal 
length,  entirely  distinct  from  each  other.  My 
uncertainty  had  been  as  to  whether  the  two  are 
ever  used  by  the  same  individual.  I  had  lis- 
tened a  good  many  times,  first  and  last,  in  hopes 
to  settle  the  point,  but  hitherto  without  success. 
Now,  however,  a  bird,  while  under  my  eye,  de- 
livered both  songs,  and  then  went  on  to  give 
further  proof  of  his  versatility  by  repeating  one 
of  them  minus  the  final  note.  This  abbrevia- 
tion, by  the  way,  is  not  very  infrequent  with 
Dendroeca  virens  ;  and  he  has  still  another  vari- 
ation, which  I  hear  once  in  a  while  every  sea- 
son, consisting  of  a  grace  note  introduced  in 
the  middle  of  the  measure,  in  such  a  connec- 
tion as  to  form  what  in  musical  language  is  de- 
nominated a  turn.  At  my  first  hearing  of  this 
I  looked  upon  it  as  the  private  property  of  the 
bird  to  whom  I  was  listening,  —  an  improve- 
ment which  he  had  accidentally  hit  upon.  But 
it  is  clearly  more  than  that ;  for  besides  hear- 
ing it  in  different  seasons,  I  have  noticed  it  in 
places  a  good  distance  apart.  Perhaps,  after 
the  lapse  of  ten  thousand  years,  more  or  less, 
the  whole  tribe  of  black-throated  greens  will 
have  adopted  it ;  and  then,  when  some  ornithol- 


A  MONTH'S  MUSIC.  291 

ogist  chances  to  fall  in  with  an  old-fashioned 
specimen  who  still  clings  to  the  plain  song  as 
we  now  commonly  hear  it,  he  will  fancy  that 
to  be  the  very  latest  modern  improvement,  and 
proceed  forthwith  to  enlighten  the  scientific 
world  with  a  description  of  the  novelty. 

Hardly  any  incident  of  the  month  interested 
me  more  than  a  discovery  (I  must  call  it  such, 
although  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  allude  to  it 
at  all)  which  I  made  about  the  black-capped 
titmouse.  For  several  mornings  in  succession 
I  was  greeted  on  waking  by  the  trisyllabic 
minor  whistle  of  a  chickadee,  who  piped  again 
and  again  not  far  from  my  window.  There 
could  be  little  doubt  about  its  being  the  bird 
that  I  knew  to  be  excavating  a  building  site  in 
one  of  our  apple-trees ;  but  I  was  usually  not 
out-of-doors  until  about  five  o'clock,  by  which 
time  the  music  always  came  to  an  end.  So  one 
day  I  rose  half  an  hour  earlier  than  common 
on  purpose  to  have  a  look  at  my  little  matuti- 
nal serenader.  My  conjecture  proved  correct. 
There  sat  the  tit,  within  a  few  feet  of  his  ap- 
ple-branch door,  throwing  back  his  head  in  the 
truest  lyrical  fashion,  and  calling  Hear,  hear 
me,  with  only  a  breathing  space  between  the 
repetitions  of  the  phrase.  He  was  as  plainly 
singing,  and  as  completely  absorbed  in  his  work, 
as  any  thrasher  or  hermit  thrush  could  have 


292  A  MONTH'S  MUSIC. 

been.  Heretofore  I  had  not  realized  that  these 
whistled  notes  were  so  strictly  a  song,  and  as 
such  set  apart  from  all  the  rest  of  the  chicka- 
dee's repertory  of  sweet  sounds  ;  and  I  was  de- 
lighted to  find  my  tiny  pet  recognizing  thus 
unmistakably  the  difference  between  prose  and 
poetry. 

But  we  linger  unduly  with  these  lesser  lights 
of  song.  After  the  music  of  the  Alice  and  the 
Swainson  thrushes,  the  chief  distinction  of  May, 
1884,  as  far  as  my  Melrose  woods  were  con- 
cerned, was  the  entirely  unexpected  advent  of  a 
colony  of  rose-breasted  grosbeaks.  For  five  sea- 
sons I  had  called  these  hunting-grounds  my  own, 
and  during  that  time  had  seen  perhaps  about 
the  same  number  of  specimens  of  this  royal  spe- 
cies, always  in  the  course  of  the  vernal  migra- 
tion. The  present  year  the  first  comer  was  ob- 
served on  the  15th  —  solitary  and,  except  for  an 
occasional  monosyllable,  silent.  Only  one  more 
straggler,  I  assumed.  But  on  the  following 
morning  I  saw  four  others,  all  of  them  males  in 
full  plumage,  and  two  of  them  in  song.  To  one 
of  these  I  attended  for  some  time.  According 
to  my  notes  "  he  sang  beautifully,  although  not 
with  any  excitement,  nor  as  if  he  were  doing  his 
best.  The  tone  was  purer  and  smoother  than 
the  robin's,  more  mellow  and  sympathetic,  and 
the  strain  was  especially  characterized  by  a  drop- 


A  MONTH'S  MUSIC.  293 

ping  to  a  fine  contralto  note  at  the  end."  The 
next  day  I  saw  nothing  of  my  new  friends  till 
toward  night.  Then,  after  tea,  I  strolled  into 
the  chestnut  grove,  and  walking  along  the  path, 
noticed  a  robin  singing  freely,  remarking  the 
fact  because  this  noisy  bird  had  been  rather 
quiet  of  late.  Just  as  I  passed  under  him,  how- 
ever, it  flashed  upon  me  that  the  voice  and  song 
were  not  exactly  the  robin's.  They  must  be 
the  rose-breast's  then  ;  and  stepping  back  to 
look  up,  I  beheld  him  in  gorgeous  attire,  perched 
in  the  top  of  an  oak.  He  sang  and  sang,  while 
I  stood  quietly  listening.  Pretty  soon  he  re- 
peated the  strain  once  or  twice  in  a  softer  voice, 
and  I  glanced  up  instinctively  to  see  if  a  female 
were  with  him  ;  but  instead,  there  were  two 
males  sitting  within  a  yard  of  each  other.  They 
flew  off  after  a  little,  and  I  resumed  my  saunter. 
A  party  of  chimney  swifts  were  shooting  hither 
and  thither  over  the  trees,  a  single  wood  thrush 
was  chanting  not  far  away,  and  in  another  di- 
rection a  tanager  was  rehearsing  his  chip-cherr 
with  characteristic  assiduity.  Presently  I  be- 
gan to  be  puzzled  by  a  note  which  came  now 
from  this  side,  now  from  that,  and  sounded  like 
the  squeak  of  a  pair  of  rusty  shears.  My  first 
conjecture  about  the  origin  of  this  hie  it  would 
hardly  serve  my  reputation  to  make  public  ;  but 
I  was  not  long  in  finding  out  that  it  was  the 


294  A  MONTH'S  MUSIC. 

grosbeaks'  own,  and  that,  instead  of  three,  there 
were  at  least  twice  that  number  of  these  bril- 
liant strangers  in  the  grove.  Altogether,  the 
half  hour  was  one  of  very  enjoyable  excitement ; 
and  when,  later  in  the  evening,  I  sat  down  to 
my  note-book,  I  started  off  abruptly  in  a  hor- 
tatory vein,  —  "  Always  take  another  walk ! " 

In  the  morning,  naturally  enough,  I  again 
turned  my  steps  toward  the  chestnut  grove. 
The  rose-breasts  were  still  there,  and  one  of  them 
earned  my  thanks  by  singing  on  the  wing,  fly- 
ing slowly  —  half-hovering,  as  it  were  —  and 
singing  the  ordinary  song,  but  more  continu- 
ously than  usual.  That  afternoon  one  of  them 
was  in  tune  at  the  same  time  with  a  robin,  af- 
fording me  the  desired  opportunity  for  a  direct 
comparison.  "It  is  really  wonderful,"  my  rec- 
ord says,  "  how  nearly  alike  the  two  songs  are ; 
but  the  robin's  tone  is  plainly  inferior,  —  less 
mellow  and  full.  In  general,  too,  his  strain  is 
pitched  higher ;  and,  what  perhaps  is  the  most 
striking  point  of  difference,  it  frequently  ends 
with  an  attempt  at  a  note  which  is  a  little  out 
of  reach,  so  that  the  voice  breaks."  (This  last 
defect,  by  the  bye,  the  robin  shares  with  his 
cousin  the  wood  thrush,  as  already*  remarked.) 
A  few  days  afterwards,  to  confirm  my  own  im- 
pression about  the  likeness  of  the  two  songs,  I 
called  the  attention  of  a  friend  with  whom  I  was 


A  MONTH'S  MUSIC.  295 

walking,  to  a  grosbeak's  notes,  and  asked  him 
what  bird's  they  were.  He,  having  a  good  ear 
for  matters  of  this  kind,  looked  somewhat  dazed 
at  such  an  inquiry,  but  answered  promptly, 
"  Why,  a  robin's,  of  course."  As  one  day  after 
another  passed,  however,  and  I  listened  to  both 
species  in  full  voice  on  every  hand,  I  came  to 
feel  that  I  had  overestimated  the  resemblance. 
With  increasing  familiarity  I  discerned  more 
and  more  clearly  the  respects  in  which  the  songs 
differed,  and  each  came  to  have  to  nay  ear  an 
individuality  strictly  its  own.  They  were  alike, 
doubtless,  —  as  the  red-eyed  vireo's  and  the 
blue-head's  are,  —  and  yet  they  were  not  alike. 
Of  one  thing  I  grew  better  and  better  assured : 
the  grosbeak  is  out  of  all  comparison  the  finer 
musician  of  the  two.  To  judge  from  my  last- 
year's  friends,  however,  his  concert  season  is 
very  short  —  the  more  's  the  pity. 

I  begin  to  perceive  (indeed  it  has  been  dawn- 
ing upon  me  for  some  time)  that  our  essay  is 
not  to  fulfill  the  promise  of  its  caption.  In- 
stead of  the  glorious  fullness  and  variety  of  the 
month's  music  (for  May,  in  this  latitude,  is  the 
musical  month  of  months)  the  reader  has  been 
put  off  with  a  few  of  the  more  exceptional  fea- 
tures of  the  carnival.  He  will  overlook  it,  I 
trust ;  and  as  for  the  great  body  of  the  chorus, 
who  have  not  been  honored  with  so  much  as  a 


296  A   MONTH'S  MUSIC. 

mention,  they,  I  am  assured,  are  far  too  amia- 
ble to  take  offense  at  any  such  unintentional 
slight.  Let  me  conclude,  then,  with  transcribing 
from  my  note-book  an  evening  entry  or  two. 
Music  is  never  so  sweet  as  at  the  twilight  hour ; 
and  the  extracts  may  serve  at  least  as  a  con- 
venient and  quasi-artistic  ending  for  a  paper 
which,  so  to  speak,  has  run  away  with  its 
writer.  The  first  is  under  date  of  the  19th :  — 

"  Walked,  after  dinner,  in  the  Old  Road,  as  I  have 
done  often  of  late,  and  sat  for  a  while  at  the  entrance 
to  Pyrola  Grove.  A  wood  thrush  was  singing  not 
far  off,  and  in  the  midst  a  Swainson  thrush  vouchsafed 
a  few  measures.  I  wished  the  latter  would  continue, 
but  was  thankful  for  the  little.  A  tanager  called  ex- 
citedly, Chip-cherr,  moving  from  tree  to  tree  mean- 
while, once  to  a  birch  in  full  sight,  and  then  into  the 
pine  over  my  head.  As  it  grew  dark  the  crowd  of 
warblers  were  still  to  be  seen  feeding  busily,  making 
the  most  of  the  lingering  daylight.  A  small-billed 
water  thrush  was  teetering  along  a  willow-branch, 
while  his  congeners,  the  oven-birds,  were  practicing 
their  aerial  hymn.  One  of  these  went  past  me  as  I 
stood  by  the  roadside,  rising  very  gradually  into  the 
air  and  repeating  all  the  way,  Chip,  chip,  chip,  chip, 
till  at  last  he  broke  into  the  warble,  which  was  a  full 
half  longer  than  usual.  He  was  evidently  doing  his 
prettiest.  No  vireos  sang  after  sunset.  A  Maryland 
yellow-throat  piped  once  or  twice  (he  is  habitually  an 
evening  musician),  and  the  black-throated  greens  were 


A  MONTff'S  MUSIC.  297 

in  tune,  but  the  rest  of  the  warblers  were  otherwise 
engaged.  Finally,  just  as  a  distant  whippoorwill  be- 
gan to  call,  a  towhee  sang  once  from  the  woods ;  and 
a  moment  later  the  stillness  was  broken  by  the  sudden 
outburst  of  a  thrasher.  '  Now  then/  he  seemed  to 
say,  '  if  the  rest  of  you  are  quite  done,  I  will  see  what 
/can  do.'  He  kept  on  for  two  or  three  minutes  in 
his  best  manner,  and  at  the  same  time  a  pair  of  cat- 
birds were  whispering  love  together  in  the  thicket. 
Then  an  ill-timed  carriage  came  rattling  along  the 
road,  and  when  it  had  passed,  every  bird's  voice  was 
hushed.  The  hyla's  tremulous  cry  was  the  only  mu- 
sical sound  to  be  heard.  As  I  started  away,  one  of 
these  tree-frogs  hopped  out  of  my  path,  and  I  picked 
him  up  at  the  second  or  third  attempt.  What  did  he 
think,  I  wonder,  when  I  turned  him  on  his  back  to 
look  at  the  disks  at  his  finger-tips  ?  Probably  he 
supposed  that  his  hour  was  come  ;  but  I  had  no  evil 
designs  upon  him,  —  he  was  not  to  be  drowned  in  alco- 
hol at  present.  Walking  homeward  I  heard  the  rob- 
in's scream  now  and  again ;  but  the  thrasher's  was 
the  last  song,  as  it  deserved  to  be." 

Two  days  later  I  find  the  following :  — 

"  Into  the  woods  by  the  Old  Road.  As  I  approached 
them,  a  little  after  sundown,,  a  chipper  was  trilling, 
and  song  sparrows  and  golden  warblers  were  sing- 
ing, —  as  were  the  black-throated  greens  also,  and 
the  Maryland  yellow-throats.  A  wood  thrush  called 
brusquely,  but  offered  no  further  salute  to  the  god  of 
day  at  his  departure.  Oven-birds  were  taking  to  wing 


298  A  MONTH'S  MUSIC. 

on  the  right  and  left.  Then,  as  it  grew  dark,  it  grew 
silent,  —  except  for  the  hylas,  —  till  suddenly  a  field 
sparrow  gave  out  his  sweet  strain  once.  After  that 
all  was  quiet  for  another  interval,  till  a  thrasher  from 
the  hillside  began  to  sing.  He  ceased,  and  once  more 
there  was  stillness.  All  at  once  the  tanager  broke 
forth  in  a  strangely  excited  way,  blurting  out  his 
phrase  two  or  three  times  and  subsiding  as  abruptly 
as  he  had  commenced.  Some  crisis  in  his  love-mak- 
ing, I  imagined.  Now  the  last  oven-bird  launched 
into  the  air  and  let  fall  a  little  shower  of  melody,  and 
a  whippoorwill  took  up  his  chant  afar  off.  This 
should  have  been  the  end ;  but  a  robin  across  the 
meadow  thought  otherwise,  and  set  at  work  as  if  de- 
termined to  make  a  night  of  it.  Mr.  Early-and-late, 
the  robin's  name  ought  to  be.  As  I  left  the  wood  the 
whippoorwill  followed ;  coming  nearer  and  nearer, 
till  finally  he  overpassed  me  and  sang  with  all  his 
might  (while  I  tried  in  vain  to  see  him)  from  a  tree 
or  the  wall,  near  the  big  button  wood.  He  too  is  an 
early  riser,  only  he  rises  before  nightfall  instead  of 
before  daylight." 


INDEX. 


BLACKBIRD,  crow,  17 ;  red- winged, 

183 ;  rusty,  216. 

Bluebird,  14,  72, 160,  184,  214,  217. 
Blue-gray  gnatcatcher,  152. 
Bobolink,  16,  78. 
Bunting,  bay-winged,  27,  174,  234  ; 

snow,  190,  195;  townee,  25,  39, 

62, 178. 
Butcher-bird,  5, 11, 66,  208. 

Cat-bird,  3,  72,  114. 
Cedar-bird,  26,  50,  126,  269. 
Chat,  yellow-breasted,  69,  152,  153. 
Chewink,  25,  39,  62,  178. 
Chickadee,  27,  58, 158,  202,  215,  237, 

291. 

Chimney  swift,  23,  96,  272. 
Cowbird,  183. 
Creeper,  brown,  20,  161,  205,  227, 

262;  black-and-white,  21,  266, 

279. 
Crow,  common,  26,  78,  209;  fish, 

154,  209. 
Cuckoo,  black-billed,  18. 

Finch,  grass,  27,  174,  234  ;  purple, 
27,  119,  173,  199,  217,  287 ;  pine, 
206. 

Flicker,  25,  121,  232. 

Flycatcher,  great  -  crested,  152  ; 
least,  26,  36,  231 ;  phoebe,  26,  215, 
230,  2G9  ;  wood  pewee,  36,  231, 
257;  yellow-bellied,  91. 

Goldfinch,  16,  19,  60,  173,  188, 190, 

193,  236. 
Grosbeak,  cardinal,  27,  37,  152,  173  ; 

pine,  197  ;  rose-breasted,  173, 292. 

Humming-bird,  ruby-throated,  21. 
Indigo-bird,  177. 


Jay,  blue,  26,  65,  208,  264 ;  Canada, 


Kingbird,  26,  78,  231. 
Kingfisher,  26, 154. 
Kinglet,  golden -crested,  21,    203; 
ruby-crowned,  21,  235. 

Lark,    western   meadow,    40,    41  ; 

shore,  206. 
Linnet,  27,  119,  173,  199,  217,  287 ; 

red-poll,  27,  190,  192. 

Maryland  yellow-throat,  9,  21,  85, 

166,  266,  296. 
Mocking-bird,  27. 

Night-hawk,  27,  183. 
Nuthatch,  red-bellied,  25  ;    white- 
bellied,  24. 

Oriole,  Baltimore,  16, 181 ;  orchard, 

154. 
Oven-bird,  21,  42,  86, 124,  136, 256, 

283,296. 

Pewee,  wood,  36,  231,  257. 
Phoebe,  26,  215,  230, 269. 

Red-poll  linnet,  27,  190,  192 
Redstart,  21,  86,  135. 
Robin,  15,  16,  35,  38,  111,  131, 160, 
202,  229,  294,  298. 

Sandpiper,  spotted,  123. 

Scarlet  tanager,  125, 153,  171,  257, 

296,  298. 

Shrike,  5,  11,  66,  208. 
Small-billed  water  thrush,  21,  86, 

Snow-bird,  90,  176,  208,  214,  221, 
269. 


300 


INDEX. 


Snow  bunting,  190,  195. 

Sparrow,  chipping,  10, 16,  126,  173, 
233,  289;  field,  27,  40,  173,  233; 
fox-colored,  17,  173, 176,  215,  217, 
218;  house  (or  "English"),  14, 
17,  20,  22,  45,  110  ;  savanna,  27, 
49,  78 ;  song,  15,  40,  173,  174,  200, 
214,  217,  219;  swamp,  27;  tree, 
27,  215;  white -throated,  16,  80, 
207,  271. 

Swallow,  barn,  23 ;  white-bellied,  23, 
228. 

Swift,  chimney,  23,  96,  272. 

Tanager,  scarlet,  125,  153,  171,  257, 


Thrush,  brown,  16,  61,  117, 158, 184, 
234, 297  ;  gray-cheeked  (or  Alice's), 
17, 140,  141,  281 ;  golden-crowned, 
21,  42,  86,  124,  136,  256,  283,  296 ; 
hermit,  20,  71,  86,  140,  234;  258, 
279 ;  olive-backed  (or  Swainson's), 
20,  86,  88,  140,  281;  small-billed 
water,  21,  86,  266 ;  Wilson's  (or 
veery),  25,  71,  138 :  wood,  38, 112, 
140,  258,  279. 

Titmouse,  black  -  capped,  27,  58, 
158,  202,  215,  237,  291 ;  tufted, 
151. 

Towhee  bunting,  25,  39,  62,  178. 

Veery,  25,  71,  138. 

Vireo  (or  greenlet),  blue -headed, 


167,  168;  red-eyed,  16,  167,  268; 
solitary,  167, 168 ;  yellow-throated, 
27,  167  ;  warbling,  16,  167,  168 ; 
white-eyed,  40,  41,  69,  148,  167, 
170,  286. 

Warbler,  bay  -  breasted,  85,  166  ; 
Blackburnian,  86,  165,265;  black- 
and-yellow,  85;  black-poll,  21,  85, 
165;  black-throated  blue,  21,  41, 
86, 164, 267  ;  black-throated  green, 
21,  41,  86,  137,  164,  267,  290 ;  blue 
golden-winged,  42, 145,  164  ;  blue 
yellow-backed,  21,  86,  164,  268; 
Canada,  21,  85,  266  ;  chestnut- 
sided,  42,  266,  271  ;  golden,  21, 
164 ;  golden-crowned  wagtail,  21, 

42,  86,  124,  136;    mourning,  85; 
Nashville,  98,  266 ;  pine-creeping, 
166,  228,  237,  289;   prairie,  165; 
summer    yellow -bird,    21,    164; 
worm-eating,    152  ;    yellow   red- 
poll, 234  ;  yellow-rumped,  21,  42, 

43,  86,  269. 

Waxwing,  26,  50,  126,  269. 

Whippoorwill,  183,  298. 

Woodcock,  27,  222. 

Woodpecker,  downy,  25 ;  golden- 
winged,  25,  121,  232  ;  red-bellied, 
152;  red-headed,  150.  205;  yel- 
low-bellied, 8,  26,  271.' 

Wren,  great  Carolina,  152 ;  winter. 
88, 146,  225,  256,  272. 


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